


Sunrise

by dezzert



Category: Pocket Monsters | Pokemon (Main Video Game Series), Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Action/Adventure, Conspiracy, Gen, M/M, Pokemon Journey, Rivalry, Shinoh-chihou | Sinnoh, Slow Burn, Team Bonding, with art
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-02-06 20:33:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 26,229
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12825522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dezzert/pseuds/dezzert
Summary: Lance was just supposed to be a boy from Alola starting his Pokémon journey in Sinnoh. He didn’t anticipate getting sucked into a region-wide conspiracy to unravel the very fabric of existence, but if there’s one thing Lance is good at, it’s rolling with the punches.Yeah, Lance is going to save the Pokémon world. And beat that smug asshole Keith to the Sinnoh championship along the way.





	1. Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This fic is only loosely based in the Sinnoh region. I've taken quite a few liberties on the Pokémon universe either for narrative purposes or because I'm too lazy to fact-check everything, so while I've done my best to recreate the feel of the Pokémon world, some details are inevitably off.
> 
> That being said, thank you for clicking on my first fic in years. I have a ridiculous amount planned for this story, and I hope you enjoy the ride!

In the afternoon, a horn blares through Canalave City.

The sound of distant machinery mixes with the ambience of crashing seawater and screeching Wingulls. Crowds bustle by on the streets beside the canal, taking no notice of the lumbering silhouette of a steamship approaching from the horizon. At this distance, the ship is no more than a cloud of gray against a bright blue backdrop, haloed by the warm gleam of water meeting sky.

On the deck of the _Sunrise_ , a crowd strains against the railings. Hundreds of excited faces blot the expanse of the ship, forming an undulating pond of fidgets and murmurs. A commotion goes up as two bodies push through the crowd, annoyed hisses and quick snaps landing on deaf ears.

“Lance, wait up!” Hunk wheezes, throwing a hasty apology to a disgruntled woman.

“Hurry up, man!” Lance throws back brightly, ducking under a flailing arm. “You’re gonna miss the view!”

Lance reaches the railings first, lurching recklessly forward in his excitement. He ignores the muttering old lady, the balding man sending him a stern side-eye and the aristocratic woman edging away from him, intent on the horizon. Leaning unobstructed over the water, Lance is battered by the ocean wind. His hair lashes at his cheeks and the air stings at his eyes as he scans the water. Blue, blue, and more blue—save for a paper-thin edge of brown floating on the horizon.

Lance breathes thinly, hyper-aware of the railing cutting into his ribs. After three weeks of layovers, musty food, and seasickness—land. And not just any land.

Sinnoh.

Lance can’t tell what face he’s making, but when a groaning Hunk finally falls beside him, he feels his best friend’s complaints slip away.

“It’s beautiful,” Hunk breathes.

“Yeah,” Lance agrees through a suddenly thick throat.

They stand in silence for what feels like an eternity, staring at the approaching shore. _Breathe in, breathe out._ With each inhale, Lance takes in a new sight: a lighthouse from a toothpick, a building from a sugar cube, a pedestrian from a grain of salt. In and out, a glance, a revelation; it eases through his body, all the way to his fingertips and out into the railings. He can’t describe this feeling coursing through him, just that it makes him feel light as air, ready for anything.

Lance is startled from his thoughts by the horn blaring noisily. A man shouts at the crowd to prepare for docking. A beat passes before Lance forcibly peels his fingers from the railing and follows the dispersing crowd. He catches a warm look from Hunk that lasts long enough for Lance to start feeling uncomfortable.

“How many people here do you think I can impress with my irresistible charm?” Lance quips, pasting on a smirk. Hunk snorts and jabs him with an elbow.

“Keep it in your pants, big boy,” Hunk throws back without missing a beat.

“Hey,” Lance protests playfully. “Aspiring Pokémon trainer is in.” He waggles his brow. “Shows ‘em I’m a master of my Poké _bal_ —,”

“Nope, gonna stop you there,” Hunk groans. Lance’s smirk widens into a grin.

Everyone on the ship is eager to reunite with land, scrambling, jostling, holding tightly onto their Pokéballs, calling out for wandering children. Lance and Hunk get off the ship fairly quickly, but by the time they step on solid land, the line to customs is already unbearably long. They fall in line, where Lance immediately plops onto the ground with a whine.

The line is impossibly slow. By the end of the first half-hour, Lance has given up on sulking theatrically and is sulking genuinely. Eventually, they move on to a game, taking turns guessing random people’s Pokémon. It’s surprisingly fun; slapping a Pom-Pom Oricorio onto a pissy-looking woman a few lines down fills at least ten minutes with cut-off snickers and muffled giggles. People around them send pointed looks, but it helps abate the nervous itching in Lance’s hands.

“Look.” Lance points to a boy in a red jacket right behind a dour-looking man being inspected. “See that kid with a mullet there? Definitely a jerk with a fire-type. Looks like he’s cosplaying Red1 or something.”

“Hmm, I don’t know,” They watch as the man recalls his Pokémon and the line moves up. Mullet exchanges terse words with the inspector before pulling out his Pokéball. “Maybe he has hidden depths. Maybe he’s a fairy-type specialist.”

“Him? No way,” Lance scoffs, eyeing the high collar. “Probably from Kanto and probably picked Charmander as a starter.”

Hunk makes a muffled sound when Mullet sends out a Charmeleon. They stare dumbly before Lance shouts and pumps his fist in the air, narrowly avoiding hitting the person behind him.

“Watch it,” the man snaps. Lance throws a blithe “sorry” over his shoulder before grinning cheekily at Hunk. Hunk rolls his eyes, pointedly ignoring Lance’s victory dance.

It takes a full two hours before Hunk sends out Muds, his Mudbray, who brays tensely when the inspector circles and prods him. Lance coos comforting words as Muds tosses his tail in agitation, and Hunk apologetically promises him a sour poffin when he begins pawing the ground roughly. After a few tense minutes, Muds passes the inspection without issue, if with some disgruntlement.

After that comes what feels like a million forms. Yes, they’re from Alola. Yes, they have a sponsor. No, they’re not criminals. No, they don’t plan to introduce invasive Pokémon. A woman who looks like she’s dead inside inspects their passports and stamps their papers. By the time they finally make it out of the port, the sky has begun yellowing. Hunk releases Muds and gives him a treat, and they start walking along the canals.

In the streets of Canalave, Lance feels a sense of displacement. The ocean sloshes familiarly in the distance, but the hasty passerbys and the artificial gurgling of the canals grate harshly against his ears.

“It’s weird to think we’re halfway across the world,” Hunk muses, wearing a strange expression. “Our families are probably already asleep.”

Lance huffs. “Hunk, buddy, Arnulfo doesn’t sleep. Who knows how many sodas he’s hopped up on right now.” He softens. “But yeah, man. It’s weird. It’s like home but not, and this is just one city.”

“There’s so much to see,” Hunk enthuses. “There’s the marshes in the southeast, the mythical lakes, the mountains, places where it always snows. Isn’t that crazy, Lance? You didn’t even believe snow existed when we were young!”

Lance sputters. “I was five! I lived on a tropical island!”

“Yeah, we both have a lot to learn,” Hunk offers. Lance diplomatically ignores the laugh that escapes his pursed lips.

“So where to, responsible best friend?” Lance raises a brow. Hunk fumbles his map out of his backpack, spreading it on the ground as Muds snuggles under his arm.

“Professor Altea is meeting us in his lab in Castle Town2. That’s here, a little south of us”—Hunk points to a small town at the far southwest of the map—”so we’ll need to travel through Jubilife City. With Muds, we can probably make the whole trip in less than a day.”

“Where’s the closest gym?”

“That would be the rock gym in Balmera City3.” A city to the east of Jubilife catches Lance’s eye. “The entire city runs off of Balmera crystals. There’s a lot of prehistoric research based there, too.”

“Balmera City it is,” Lance declares.

“Cool. I’m probably gonna check out the meadows in Floaroma Town myself. Maybe I’ll find some new recipes.”

“Tapu, I can’t wait!” Lance blurts. “I still can’t believe we’re in Sinnoh. I’m just a boy from Alola, man. Isn’t this where the world started? What do you think the Sinnoh starters look like? I’m gonna pick the best starter. Maybe the fire-type, those are badass even if they’re offensively basic. Water-types aren’t bad either. Whatever, my lifelong buddy has to at least be as dashing as I am, or it just won’t work out. It’s like, like sex, you know? Equal exchange, and all that. Well, unless you’re into the kinky stuff.”

“Gross.” Hunk wrinkles his nose.

“I can feel it,” Lance exclaims, undeterred. “My buddy and I are gonna be best of friends, brothers-in-arms, comrades, muchachos. We’ll be the stuff out of dreams, Hunk, like one of those dramatic posters they have of Shirogane everywhere these days. We’re gonna be the new legends. We’re gonna win the championship, and my family is going to _freak_ when they see us in the Hall of Fame.”

“Your family’s going to be proud of you no matter what,” Hunk says. Lance is momentarily blindsided before he remembers his smirk.

“Yeah, but I’ll make the world proud of me.” Lance’s eyes gleam. “Just you wait. I’m gonna to kick ass!”

“You can’t kick anyone’s ass on two hours of sleep,” Hunk says reasonably. Muds snorts in agreement. Lance frowns, about to complain, but Hunk levels his ‘you know I’m right’ look at him. “Let’s find some lodging in Canalave tonight, then we can head out at dawn tomorrow. We can make a pit stop at Jubilife, and we’ll be able to get to Castle by night. We can meet the professor the next morning.”

“Hunk, my man, my buddy. Don’t do this to me,” Lance groans. “We’ve been waiting all day, don’t make me wait two more.”

“We need rest.” A gleam must appear in Lance’s eye because Hunk hastily adds, “And don’t even think about sneaking out tonight. We only have Muds between us, and your mom’s gonna kill me if anything happens to you.”

Lance pouts and turns to Muds, cradling his face in his hands. “Your trainer is very, very mean,” he says solemnly to Muds’ sleepy expression. Muds snorts and flicks his tail at Lance.

Hunk sighs fondly. “Come on, Lance. Let’s get some sleep.”

“Yes, mother,” Lance gripes before picking himself up to follow.

\--

Professor Altea is a lot weirder than expected.

“Oh, just call me Coran,” he huffs as he struggles with a teetering stack of paper. “Professor Altea just makes me think of my brother. Remarkable man, he is. Seminal Pokémon breeding research that will change the world’s understanding of evolution, you know.”

“Do you need help?” Lance offers dubiously, sharing a look with Hunk.

“Oh no _oO_ —“ The sentence ends in a shriek when he slips, sending the entire stack fluttering onto the floor. The spindly, mustachioed bug Pokémon beside him warbles pitifully at his fall, and Hunk rushes over to help him up.

“Dear me, I must be getting old,” Professor Coran groans as he’s held up by Hunk. “I used to be quite the master of Piloswine blanket-weaving. A very peculiar art form that takes a lot of skill and dexterity, I’ll have you know.”

“Okay,” Lance says easily. “Do you have the starters?”

Both the Professor and his bug Pokémon perk up. “Oh! I almost forgot! Krickety, would you get the Pokéballs for me, old friend?”

The bug Pokemon rushes away. Professor Coran pushes himself onto his feet, clearing his throat.

“Apologies for my clumsiness. Allow me to give you two a proper introduction.” Professor Coran bows grandly, sweeping an arm through the clean space of the laboratory. “My name is Coran Hieronymus Wimbleton Smythe Altea, PhD in Behavioral Ecology and masters in Pokémon Education. I am the ‘guiding professor’, if you will, of the Sinnoh region, and my research specializes in classifying and documenting all aspects of Pokémon behavior. You, Lance McClain and Hunk Garrett of the Alola region,”—Professor Coran sends them a sharp look—“are here because you have volunteered to help me with field work and possibly experience a great Pokémon journey along the way.” His eyes twinkle, and his mustache twitches with a small smile. “I imagine you two are very excited.”

“Hell yeah!” Lance blurts before Hunk can reply. “We’re pumped!”

Professor Coran’s mustache twitches again. “That’s good to hear,” he beams as Krickety runs back with two—just two?—Pokéballs cradled in its claws.

“These,” the Professor breathes as he picks them up, “are your future companions. They will follow you to the ends of the Earth. With them, you will go through trial and tribulation, and you will both grow as trainer and Pokémon.”

The Pokéball in his left hand expands, and he flicks it in the air. Red light streams out of the ball, coalescing into a small, blue form. Lance catches glimpses of thick, downy feathers and a darker overcoat. When it looks up, round eyes and a small beak catch his eye. The Pokémon suddenly sneezes, and Lance feels his heart seize.

“This is Piplup, the Penguin Pokémon. He’s a proud one but he has a good heart. Do right by him, and he’ll do his best for you.” Piplup stumbles as he stands, and Coran huffs amusedly. “When he’s not tripping over his own feet, that is.”

Piplup shoots the Professor an offended look, and Lance feels himself falling even more in love.

Coran tosses the other Pokéball. An olive, turtle-like Pokémon appears in a splash of red light. It blinks confusedly, getting up to stand on four stumpy legs. The leaf on its head bobs as it looks from side to side, double-taking at Lance’s and Hunk’s presence.

“Turtwig, the Tiny Leaf Pokémon. One of the more level-headed Pokémon in our lab. A little shy, but more than willing to help out when needed. Go on, boy!” Coran shoos Turtwig, who ducks his head.

“And the fire-type starter?” Hunk questions, glancing around.

“Ah, yes,” Coran hums. “Taken by the third trainer I sponsored. A young man from Kanto, Keith, I believe.”

“The early bird gets the worm,” Lance sing-songs. “Or I guess the early Keith gets the mystery fire-type.”

That leaves two for Lance and Hunk. Lance sends a meaningful look to Hunk and smiles sheepishly when Hunk pointedly glances at Piplup, then back at Lance. He turns to Piplup, watching him preen disinterestedly. Piplup’s gaze meets Lance’s, and they both still. Lance barely registers a reassuring smile from Hunk before he tentatively approaches the Pokémon.

“Hey, Buddy,” he murmurs softly, stretching out a hand. “How ‘bout you and me go on an awesome adventure together?”

For a few tense moments, Piplup sends him a searching look. Lance keeps what he hopes is a welcoming smile on his face, even when his cheeks start to ache. _Antes con locos, que cuerdo a solas_ , Mami’s words echo through his mind like a mantra. Lance can’t feel his face anymore.

A shock jolts through him when Piplup bumps his head against Lance’s hand. Lance curls his fingers into Buddy’s soft down, feeling like his grin might split his face in half.

“Looks like you’ve already bonded,” Hunk smiles between Lance’s adoring coos. Lance doesn’t respond, just tilts his head toward Turtwig meaningfully: _your turn_. Hunk swallows.  
  
Lance has known Hunk long enough to recognize his constipated expression as nervousness. He shares a smirk with Buddy, tempted to goad his best friend a little, but stays silent as Hunk cautiously approaches Turtwig with open hands. Lance’s smirk softens as he watches Hunk undergo the same anxious wait, the same rush of giddiness when Turtwig croaks welcomingly. Hunk sends Lance a dazed look, and Lance winks.

“So how much of that speech was rehearsed?” Lance asks suddenly as he releases Buddy from his arms. Coran sputters indignantly.

“My welcome messages are fully improvised and personalized!” A beat of silence when Lance raises his brow. “Okay, I did reference a template, but it is a long-standing tradition and I admit no shame in doing so.”

Lance makes a noncommittal hum of acknowledgement. “Hey Hunk, let’s battle.”

Hunk jolts. “What? Right now?”

“Hell yes right now!” Lance glances at Buddy, who perks up. “Look, Buddy’s up for it too!”

Hunk eyes a sulking Coran. “Don’t you think it’s a little… ill-advised to battle inside a laboratory?”

“Not at all,” Coran sniffs. “It’s _tradition_.”

“Yeah, man. Think of all the bonding you could do. You and Turtwig, side by side, becoming one in the heat of battle, breaking down barriers, celebrating the glory of triumph!” Lance lowers his gaze, eyes glittering. “Not that you’re going to win, of course.”

“I have the type advantage,” Hunk points out.

“Yeah, well, Buddy has the awesomeness advantage.”

Hunk snorts, and Lance knows he’s got him. Hunk readies his stance, and Lance sends a grin to Buddy, who trills in anticipation. Buddy leaps in front of Lance, and Turtwig pads hesitantly forward.

“Looks like you’re gonna be our first victory, best friend.” Lance jeers. Buddy harrumphs in agreement.

“Don’t get ahead of yourself,” Hunk sighs sufferingly, but Lance sees the small upturn of his lips.

Without warning, Buddy dashes forward with a Pound. He’s not fast, but Turtwig is slower. Lance lets out a loud "woot!" when Buddy’s fin smacks roughly against Turtwig’s face. Turtwig recoils and blinks, but he looks more startled than hurt.

“Shake it off, ‘Twig! Tackle!”

Turtwig careens into Buddy without hesitation. Buddy squawks under Turtwig’s weight and whacks him chaotically with his fins. They scuffle wildly across the lab floor, smacking against the leg of a table.

“Hold him down, ‘Twig! Don’t let him escape!”

“No way! Push him off!” Buddy sends Lance a dirty look, as if saying _I’m trying_. “Well—aim for his eyes!”

Buddy screeches furiously. He flaps rapidly at Turtwig’s eyes and pecks at his nose. The machine-gun smack of Buddy’s wings drowns out the confused noise Turtwig makes. Lance hisses a _yes!_ when Turtwig leans back.

“Withdraw, ‘Twig! Protect yourself!”

Turtwig rolls away, shell out. Buddy lunges after, but stops at Lance’s shout. “Get back, Bud! Under the table!”

Buddy scampers past the table legs, tripping into the center. He breathes shallowly as he warily eyes a calm, if befuddled, Turtwig through the bars of the table. Lance scowls as Turtwig sits down, patient and humoring, looking no more affected than he did when sent out by Coran.

“Good idea, ‘Twig,” Hunk calls out encouragingly. “Wait it out. You got the upper hand.”

“Not for long, you don’t,” Lance mutters. “Shake the table, Buddy!”

Hunk’s eyes widen. “Wait, Lance, I don’t think—,”

With a screech worthy of a million Championship battles, Buddy slams into the leg of the table. The table lurches once—Buddy slams it again—twice—a shower of pens and paper topples onto the floor. Turtwig cries fearfully and scrambles back. A pen breaks and spills ink like blood splatter onto the floor.

“ _My papers!_ ” Coran wails in tune with Krickety.

“Go!” Lance shouts. Undaunted by the black coating his feet, Buddy lunges at ‘Twig and smacks him resoundingly in the face. This time, ‘Twig lurches back.

“Don’t let him recover!” Lance screams just as Hunk shouts, “Don’t let him shake you!”

Buddy lands another smack against ‘Twig’s momentum. And another. And another. ‘Twig steps back with each hit, groaning. Black footprints mark the pristine tile with each step Buddy takes.

Then Turtwig bites down on Buddy’s flailing wing, hard. Buddy howls and falters. Turtwig rams his head into Buddy, sending the Piplup sprawling into a puddle of ink. Turtwig breathes raspily. Black streaks smear towards Buddy’s prone form. Buddy does not get up.

The lab rests in stunned silence, broken by the synthetic hiss of Lance recalling his unconscious Pokémon.

“What were you thinking?” Hunk explodes. “Those were the Professor’s papers! Oh Tapu”—he turns to Coran—“I am _so_ sorry about this. We’ll clean up this mess right away, and this won’t happen again ever. _Right_ , Lance?”

Lance crosses his arms at Hunk’s glare, but he grumbles a “no, it won’t”.

Coran sighs and rests a hand on Hunk’s shoulder. “Not to worry, Mr. Garrett. There’s no problem with Lance using his surroundings in a battle. In fact, I’d say I’m impressed. I’ve not come across many trainers with the creativity and daring to pull off such a strategy, especially none with no prior experience in Pokémon battling. However, my lab assistants are all too occupied with very crucial work to be cleaning a tragic spill such as this. It would be nice if some helpful individuals with time on their hands could volunteer,” Coran finishes mildly.

Lance, who had been puffing up at Coran’s speech, deflates. “Yes, sir,” he mumbles guiltily.

“Of course, Professor,” Hunk nods frantically.

After Hunk recalls ‘Twig, the rest of their time at the lab is spent in pointed silence, picking up stained papers and mopping up ink. After a few minutes, Lance cracks jokes about the lab, jokes about picking up hot chicks, inside jokes, self-deprecating jokes. It only takes two jokes of Lance going bald for Hunk to finally soften and admit that toppling the table was a pretty creative strategy. They clean up the last of the ink in a peaceful quiet before waving goodbye—and apologizing one more time—to Coran.

Heading back to Jubilife is quick and easy. They stop at the Pokémon Center to heal their Pokémon and buy supplies. Packing his twentieth Pokéball into his backpack, Hunk turns to Lance with a soft smile.

“I’m gonna head up north to Floaroma Town, now. There’s still enough daylight, and I’m sure Muds and ‘Twig got me covered.”

“That’s cool, man. Balmera City in the east for me.” Lance hesitates. “So I’m guessing this is where we part?”

“For now,” Hunk says resolutely. Lance nods, smiling.

“For now.”

They stand in silence before Hunk opens his arms. Lance tackles Hunk, earning a rushed _oof_ , and they teeter dramatically side-to-side, Lance smacking Hunk’s back with enough force to echo in the spacious store.

“Goodbye, old friend,” Lance says with a twisted face and an exaggerated tremble. “Thanks for buying me lemonades from the vending machines. Thanks for helping me kick Arnulfo’s ass at football. Thanks for convincing Mami that we were studying for finals that time we were actually trying to find Tapu Koko in your grandma’s backyard. Thanks for that one time when I had a date and you let me use your bicycle to—,”

“Lance?”

“Yes, dearest friend?”

Hunk pounds his back hard enough for Lance to choke on his spit.

“Shut up.”

\--

Leaving Hunk to journey on his own was surprisingly easy. What wasn’t was trying to bond with Buddy.

“Aw, come on, Bud,” Lance whines at the Piplup, who turns his head away snootily. “So what if we didn’t win? We both gave it our best shot, and you landed some pretty badass hits back there. It’s not our fault that ‘Twig was made out of adamantium.”

Buddy ignores him in favor of wading deeper into the tall grass. Lance heaves an ugly sigh, trailing behind.

A puffy, red bug Pokémon comes to view in the grass, and Buddy gives a little chitter before chasing after it. He doesn’t get far before he face-plants onto the grass, and the bug Pokémon is spooked away with a scale of panicked chimes. Lance just watches as Buddy lies face-down, refusing to get up.

“You don’t have to battle everything you see, y’know?” Lance says easily, crouching next to Buddy’s intentionally still form. “You don’t need to prove yourself. You’re the best starter there is, Bud. I wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise.”

A sad, muffled chirp sounds from Buddy’s prone form. Lance rests his hand on Buddy’s back, admiring his sleek overcoat.

“C’mon, Buddy. Let’s get up and get to know each other.”

It only takes a few minutes for Lance to know that Buddy loves spicy treats but hates bitter ones. Buddy secretly likes being preened at his collar, but will peck Lance’s hands away out of pride. Buddy is excitable and eager under a thin façade of coolness, and rolls with Lance’s own adventurousness like a champ. Buddy also, like Lance, hates losing.

Buddy _really_ hates losing. He keeps chasing after the skittish black-and-white bird Pokémon that flock the area, trying to attack them. Lance has to pull him away multiple times before he faints, and Buddy sulks each time Lance heals him with a Potion. Eventually, the harshness of Buddy’s aggression melts into playfulness, and they share a game of spooking Starly. Lance finds himself laughing with Buddy in his arms, cringing when Buddy pecks him lightly on his head.

It’s in the middle of terrorizing a flock of Starly that Lance hears a distant crackle of fire. Lance and Buddy both perk up, listening as a faint shout echoes in the trees, followed by a Pokémon’s affirming cry. A battle. Lance shares a look with Buddy, and they burst into a sprint towards the commotion.

Lance skids to a halt at the edge of a clearing just in time to see a Charmeleon send a furry brown Pokémon flying in his direction. It tumbles at Lance’s feet before settling like a ragdoll, eyes shut and mouth lax to show a pair of sharp buck-teeth. Lance ignores Buddy running into his leg, watching as a young trainer shouts in frustration and recalls the fainted Pokémon.

“Here’s your money,” she spats, shoving crumbled bills into her opponent’s chest. She stomps past Lance and into the trees, huffing angrily.

Lance stares at the remaining trainer. The boy—no, the _young man_ rests a hand briefly on Charmeleon’s snout, tucking the money into his pocket with his other hand. He turns to leave, and Lance is rapt on the high collar of his red jacket, the inky hair brushing the nape of his neck, the cap that he sets roughly on his head as he steps away. Lance jolts at Buddy’s inquisitive tweet, his eyes latching downwards onto a small, monkey-like Pokémon with a lick of fire blooming from its rear—

He finds himself running into the clearing, waving wildly.

“Keith!”

Mullet stops. Lance slows, watching Keith turn around and fix him with wide, expressive eyes. Eyes that are tense with confusion.

“Do I know you?”

The rough timbre of his voice amplifies the frantic energy in Lance. He smiles haltingly. “No, but I know you! Wait, that sounded creepy—I mean, like, I know you from the _Sunrise_! You’re Mullet, edgy Red cosplayer with an equally edgy Charmeleon! Really wish you didn’t take away the fire-type so early though, not that I don’t already love Buddy ‘cause Buddy’s obviously the best outta all of them, but, you know, would’ve been nice to have the chance to look over all my options—that’s how I know your name, by the way. You’re Keith, the asshole who took the fire-type before Hunk and I could even get down to Castle Town!”

Lance wants to slap his hands over his mouth. Keith is scowling at him now, and Lance hears that familiar voice telling him, _Ah, you fucked up again._

“Did you come here just to insult me?” he says incredulously. Lance’s smile stretches wider as he sinks backward.

“No, no! I just—I’m Lance McClain, and I—battle me!” This time, Lance actually slap his hands over his mouth.

Keith, to his credit, looks unfazed as he turns to face Lance fully, arms crossed.

“I don’t have time for this,” he grunts. Lance feels a stab of hurt, which he quickly turns into annoyance.

“Hey, man, don’t knock on my Buddy.” Lance motions Buddy forward, and he leaps up with an anticipatory chirp. “He’s small, but he’s fierce. Plus you had time for that other trainer you just beat.”

This, impossibly, makes Keith scowl more. “She was annoying. Wanted to battle a Charmeleon, even though her Pokémon were so under-leveled it wasn’t funny.” Keith eyes Buddy skeptically. “Looks like your Piplup isn’t much better.”

This makes both Lance and Buddy prickle. “Hey,” Lance snaps sharply. “Don’t insult Buddy when you won’t even battle us. You’re just full of talk, aren’t you? Are you _scared?_ ”

Keith’s nostrils flare. “I’m not scared.”

“Then prove it.”

“Fine,” Keith snarls. “Chimchar.”

The fire-monkey—Chimchar—stays at Keith’s side. Keith narrows his eyes dangerously before Chimchar reluctantly slinks forward.

“Buddy, you ready?” Buddy chirps affirmatively. “Then start it out with a Pound!”

Buddy rushes forward, fins raised. Chimchar elegantly dodges the blow, then looks questioningly at Keith. When Keith does nothing but raise an eyebrow, Buddy smacks Chimchar’s face.

“Don’t get distracted,” Keith instructs. Chimchar does not respond, just side-steps Buddy’s next blow.

Chimchar is faster, Lance realizes. It dodges Buddy’s awkward slaps with ease, but does little more than scratch half-heartedly at the space Buddy occupies. Buddy can’t land a hit up close.

“Buddy, save your energy!” he shouts. Buddy ignores him with another swipe at Chimchar’s face. Lance grits his teeth. “C’mon, Bud! You can’t hit him like this!”

Lance knows Buddy agrees when he sees him tense. He swings once more at Chimchar, but instead of following with another swing, he steps back. Chimchar blinks, surprised. Big mistake—a jet of bubbles bursts from Buddy’s mouth and pops violently against Chimchar. Chimchar cries and shields itself, but it collapses on the ground easily.

Lance gapes, then shakes himself. “Great job, Bud!” he crows proudly. Buddy puffs out his chest.

Keith silently recalls Chimchar and turns to leave. “Congrats, you won,” he throws back flatly. Lance bristles.

“No, I didn’t,” he responds viciously. “You still have one Pokémon left. Send him out.”

“Her,” Keith corrects. “And no. Your Piplup’s not ready to fight her.”

Lance glares at the Charmeleon by his side, and she stares back steadily. “That’s not for you to decide.”

Keith turns around, frowning deeply. “Don’t blame me when you lose,” he says simply, and Charmeleon silently steps forward.

Buddy stands tall against Charmeleon, but he is still dwarfed. The rigid line of Buddy’s back tells Lance that, as excited as he is, he is also nervous. Very nervous.

“Well?” Keith raises an eyebrow. Lance frowns.

“Hold on.”

Lance steps to Buddy, the grass crunching softly under his shoes. Buddy stubbornly does not look back as he approaches, but startles when Lance settles a hand on his head. He shakes as Lance runs his thumb under the feathers at the nape of his neck, just like he likes it.

“You got this, Buddy,” he whispers softly. “I know she’s a big, scary, evolved fire-type, but I also know you’re a fierce little Pokémon—with a type-advantage.” He smiles affectionately when Buddy turns back to look at him. “And even if you lose, it doesn’t matter. You got to fight a badass fire dragon! That’s crazy, Bud! That’s like chugging a bottle of hot sauce and spending the rest of the day on the toilet, but you’re still proud ‘cause you _chugged a bottle of hot sauce._ ”

Buddy trills skeptically, but his back is less stiff. Lance sends him one last grin and pats his head reassuringly. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

Buddy chirrups and leaps forward. Lance dusts off his legs and steps back, catching a strange expression on Keith’s face that flitters away when he notices Lance’s gaze. Lance smirks and winks.

“Alright, Buddy, start off with a Bubble!”

Buddy shoots out a jet of bubbles that spray wildly towards Charmeleon. Unfazed, Charmeleon dashes to the side, much faster than Chimchar. Undaunted, Buddy continues to spray in a wide arc, following Charmeleon’s path.

“That’s it, Bud! Keep going!”

The bubbles taper off. Charmeleon darts in with a swipe that Buddy barely dodges. He’s sent tumbling to the side by the force of the attack, scrambling to his feet. Charmeleon calmly waits for him to recover before swiping blindingly quickly. Buddy careens into another tumble. Lance grits his teeth.

“Don’t go easy on us, you asshole!”

Keith looks on, unimpressed. “Your Piplup’s barely keeping up.”

He’s right. Buddy is throwing his full effort into dodging Charmeleon’s cutting Scratches, and Lance can see his belabored breaths with each roll. Worry prickles at his skin, but Buddy screeches determinedly into another dive. Lance’s resolve hardens.

“ _Don’t look down on us!_ ” Lance roars.

“Fine,” Keith hisses. “Dragon Rage.”

Suddenly, Charmeleon rushes to Buddy’s side, eyes flaming an eerie purple. She claws him devastatingly and sends him streaking past Lance and into a tree. Lance feels his hair rustle with the force of the launch. He frantically rushes to Buddy’s prone form, crumpled at the foot of the tree.

Buddy groans when Lance picks him up, stilling Lance with surprise. He looks up at Lance with slitted eyes before his head lolls back into the crook of Lance’s elbow. Lance releases a shaky breath he didn’t know he was holding. _Stubborn idiot_ , he thinks fondly through the turbulent anxiety clouding his mind.

Minutes pass before Lance’s breaths stop rattling his ribs and Buddy seems more asleep than unconscious. He quietly presses the Pokéball against Buddy’s head and watches as Buddy disappears in a stream of red light. He stands up and turns to face Keith, who stands silently in the clearing with Charmeleon at his side.

“Next time, train your Pokémon before you battle,” he says.

He leaves.

Lance watches him leave until he’s aware of his arms trembling. The frenetic energy is back, and it escalates every time it cycles through his body in each shaky breath. It compels his legs to move and his lungs to scream at Keith’s long-gone figure.

“I’ll beat you Keith!” His screams crackle in the air as they escape his mouth. “I’ll see you again, and I’ll beat you!”

The distant squawking of Starly flying into the sunset is his only response, but Lance doesn’t feel alone. He begins his trek back to the Jubilife Pokémon Center, breathing in and out, light as air, ready for anything.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1Red as in the protagonist of the first generation of Pokémon games (most commonly known by his anime equivalent Ash), not the Red Lion.[return to text]
> 
> 2Castle Town is the equivalent of Sandgem Town in this universe.[return to text]
> 
> 3Balmera City is the equivalent of Oreburgh City in this universe.[return to text]
> 
> Please feel free to correct my Spanish. Unfortunately, Google and high school Spanish can fail sometimes.


	2. Connections

The ringing of the out-going call sounds like a rumbling brook, if the sound of water cascading over rocks was digitized and stuffed into a Pokétch1. Pidge counts four streams before the last is abruptly cut off.

Coran’s face flickers in the air, weathered but cheery. He raises his eyebrows when he sees Pidge's unamused expression.

“Do you know where Matt and my dad are?” Pidge asks without preamble.

Coran, bless him, doesn’t flinch at Pidge’s bluntness. “Last I heard, they were heading out of my brother’s laboratory to a new site.”

“Do you know where that is?”

“Katie, your father and I have worked closely in the past, but he does not tell me everything about his expeditions.”

Pidge scowls. “I haven’t heard from them in a week. Matt usually calls me every night, maybe skips a few days if he’s busy, but never a full week.”

Coran hums. “That does sound concerning, but I would not fret too much. With a project of such grave importance as your father has made it seem, I would not be surprised to find them so absorbed in their work that they forget to contact their dearest for a week!”

Instead of snapping, Pidge takes a deep breath.

“I’m going to find them,” she declares. Coran chokes. “And you can’t stop me.”

Coran seems to struggle with himself, face reddening, before settling on a nervous laugh. Something compels him to pick himself up and move around the lab, creating a trail of sterile white and lazy sunlight in the background of the hologram.

“Katie, don’t be hasty,” Coran says gently. “Your father and your brother would be very upset should something befall you.”

“They’re the ones in trouble,” Pidge says stubbornly. Coran sighs.

“I’m not discounting your suspicions, Katie, but I beg you to stop and think. Your father and your brother are both very competent trainers—your brother especially—and there’s not much that could befall them in which someone without a Pokémon could intervene. That is, if anything has befallen them at all,” Coran finishes with a stern look.

Something sickeningly hot rushes through her. Pidge can feel her forehead creasing, a habit Matt has long made fun of through years of board-game nights. Measuring her breaths, she forces out evenly, “Tell Professor Altea I’m dropping by soon,” and cuts the feed before Coran can reply.

“Useless!” she growls under her breath ferociously, pulling herself out of her armchair. Her door slams as she stomps out of her room.

The next hour is spent upturning the house, all three stories and twenty rooms. A haphazard pile of paraphernalia grows steadily in the spacious living room, jackets asunder, Dusk Balls toppling onto the hardwood boards, Escape Ropes weaving impossibly under the chaos of the hoard. The housekeep is going to freak when she comes by the next morning, whether by the upturned rooms or by Pidge’s absence. Pidge does not particularly care.

She tops off the pile with a dusty hiking backpack that Matt used on his expedition to Mount Silver, unbalancing the precarious tower and showering Pokéballs, Potions, and outerwear onto the polished floor. Pidge wades past the catastrophe drowning the living room. She snatches the backpack by its worn straps and begins systematically shoving items inside or throwing them over her shoulder. Ultra Balls, Dusk Balls, Net Balls all go in. So do the Max Heals, Max Revives, and every other potion in the poorly locked medicine cabinet. Pidge considers a Pokédoll and an Escape Rope, and stuffs both inside. Two jackets are shucked onto her body. She nabs a stray hair-tie from the ground and binds her hair into a high ponytail.

When she is finished, Pidge stands in front of a body length mirror, gazing critically at her swollen backpack, her messily-bound hair, her oversized hiking boots, her mismatched jackets. She doesn’t look much like an adventurer, more like a girl trying to fit in her older brother’s shoes. The accuracy of the metaphor irks her, and she steps away. It doesn’t matter what she looks like. She’s going to find her family.

In his last call, Matt was enthusing about Professor Altea’s pristine lab and his “ _sooo_ beautiful and accomplished” daughter. She remembers Dad rambling drunkenly about the Sinnoh creation myth to a colleague, but otherwise, both he and Matt have been strangely tight-lipped. Pidge’s best bet is to retrace their steps through Mt. Coronet and hopefully find clues leading to their next location. But first…

Coran is right. Pidge needs a Pokémon. A good one.

Matt took Darcy with him, so that leaves Pidge with nothing more than a few specialized Pokéballs and her own gumption to catch a battle-ready Pokémon. Her gaze lands speculatively on the small, hand-drawn map framed on the wall, eyes catching on the words “Eterna Forest”. Right outside the Holt household in Eterna City and, if rumors are to be believed, housing an abandoned shack where a mysterious ghost Pokémon wreaks havoc every night.

Pidge watches the grandfather clock tick by until chimes fill the ruined living room.

Tonight.

\--

“Alright, Buddy,” Lance hisses from inside a bush. “You sneak up on the side, and when I give the signal, you pin one of them to the ground. Then I’ll jump out and throw a Pokéball with my amazing aim, and we’ll have a new teammate in no time!”

Buddy chirps in a whisper, which is cute and funny in a way it shouldn’t be. Lance stifles a giggle before he shoos the Piplup out, watching him waddle stealthily under the cover of brush.

In the center of the clearing, the flock of Starly takes no notice of Buddy’s clumsy slinking, pecking intently at something in the grass. Buddy coils behind a strategic bush, meeting Lance’s eyes from the other side of the clearing. Lance gives a subtle nod and raises his fingers. _Three… two…_

Before Lance can signal _one_ , a Starly at the center of the huddle perks up and squawks in alarm. The flock flutters in a cacophony of panicked tweets, and Buddy hurriedly leaps into the pandemonium of wings. One stray Starly looks up too late, and Buddy quickly tackles it, chomping its leg when it tries to take flight. It screeches belligerently and pecks Buddy’s head violently.

Lance bursts out of the bush and launches a Pokéball, but it’s knocked aside by the Starly’s ferocious thrashing. Lance curses and dives for the ball as Buddy holds on like a pit bull, ragdolling at the Starly’s attempts to fly. Buddy’s head hits the ground with a prominent _thud_ , and Lance curses again. He grabs the Starly’s wings and is immediately barraged with vehement stabs. Between yelping incoherently, holding the Starly away from his face, and cringing from its enraged screams, Lance somehow shoves the Pokéball against Starly’s body. The Starly is consumed by red light. The Pokéball clicks shut. Lance sighs in relief.

“Well, that was an adventure,” he says shakily. Buddy moans in agreement, and Lance winces at the sound. Lance looks at the Pokéball in his hand with a mix of dread and contemplation. “I guess it’s not a good idea to let it out immediately.”

He tucks the Pokéball into his belt and checks his Pokédex. Starly, the Starling Pokémon. A female. Adamant. Has a keen eye. Lance switches off his Pokédex and quickly checks up on Buddy before they resume walking down the route.

The walk is peaceful, sun shining brightly above, gently rustling patches of tall grass, the picture of idyllic wilderness. Lance takes in the temperate scenery languidly, admiring the rough bark and blossoming plumes of Sinnoh trees. In Alola, Lance would race Beto and Carla up the palm trees by their house, pretending they were riding Exeggutors like kings surveying their land, never mind that Exeggcutes weren’t even found on Melemele Island. Inevitably, Lance would find himself staring out to the ocean wistfully, an impulse that none of his siblings shared. It was given that Lance would leave Alola one day, but Lance is glad that it would be here and now.

“Hunk is probably having a blast in Floaroma Town by now,” Lance says casually. Buddy chirps from beside him. “I wonder if he’s learned some new recipes, like he wanted. I wonder if he’s caught any new Pokémon. Oh!” Lance perks up. “That reminds me—,”

Lance fumbles with the Pokéball at his hip. He presses the button, and it expands in his hands.

“Let’s welcome our new teammate!”

Lance tosses the Pokéball. Starly coalesces on the ground and looks at him.

A beat passes.

Then Starly shoots at his face.

Lance isn’t sure what he was expecting, but in hindsight, it was naïve to think that sending out a recently tackled, harassed, and forcefully captured Starly would go smoothly.

“Ahh!” Lance screams, falling backward. Buddy jumps out of the way as he crashes to the ground, Starly flapping viciously at his head. “Chill, princess! Chill!”

Starly jabs his forehead crossly before flitting away, hopping imperiously onto the ground. Lance rolls over to pillow his head on his arms, groaning. “Sorry for offending you, Your Majesty,” He mutters into his scratched hands. A sanctimonious tweet is his response.

Lance is eventually roused by Buddy worriedly prodding the back of his head. He pulls himself to his knees, grimacing at his torn jeans. _Time to get new pants_ , he thinks with dismay before shoving the thought away and focusing on Starly. Her Majesty is perched on the ground a distance away, beak up, head tilted away, looking every bit like a snooty princess.

“Well, aren’t you a diva.”

Her Majesty the Queen XVIII just turns further away, the aristocratic curl of plumage atop her head swaying with the movement.

Lance tries. He really does. He bribes her with three kinds of poffins, all of which she spits out and stomps to pieces. He offers to brush her coat, just to be wing-smacked in the face. He praises her endlessly, even when she “accidentally” pecks Buddy instead of a wild Kricketot. The last one, at least, makes her feathers fluff, but she continues to look away from him with her beak in the air. _Vain and proud_ , Lance notes with a sigh, offering her an oran berry. This catches her attention, and she swallows the berry whole, then looks at him expectantly. _Scratch that_ , Lance thinks wryly. _Just vain_.

The feathers on Buddy’s neck have been steadily rising throughout Lance’s futile attempts, and he snaps at the Queen when she swoops to “accidentally” peck him again. Lance has to leap between them to prevent a tussle, marking the third time in one day that he is barraged by sharp beaks.

“Ow, ow _ow_! Not the eyes, man! Both of you settle down!” Lance complains, eyes squeezed shut. He keeps his eyelids clamped after the stabs disappear and the flapping abates, peeking through one squinted eye to make sure both Pokémon are behaving. Buddy is fuming and the Queen is propped up pompously, but they make no move to attack each other. Lance droops, sighing.

“Man, you guys are worse than Arnulfo and Beto fighting over the TV,” he grumbles, examining the new holes in his jacket. “This isn’t working. We can’t work together like this.”

Her Majesty clucks haughtily at the suggestion. Buddy prickles, but Lance sends him a sharp look.

“Look, Your Majesty,” Lance starts wryly, kneeling in front of her upturned gaze. “I know we got off to a bad start. In hindsight, tackling you isn’t the best way to earn your trust. Or grabbing your wings. Or shoving you in a Pokéball.” Lance cringes. “But I don’t think you really hate being here, ‘cause you stayed and trained, even if you’ve been…”—Lance revises his words—“uncooperative. C’mon, Queenie. I want us to be a team. I wanna bond with you and work with you and make movie-montage memories with you. But it’s kinda hard when you’re trying to gouge my eyes out any chance you get. So throw me a bone, brochacho?”

Lance towers over her, but the Queen’s imperious gaze makes apparent that she thinks their heights are reversed. Lance sighs and retreats with a shrug. Motivational speech number five: Failure. Capturing wild Pokémon take one: Catastrophic Failure. Lance is a stubborn dude, but a capital-Catastrophic capital-Failure is enough to make him cut his losses.

“Sorry for putting you through this, Buddy,” Lance says. “Looks like we gotta release the Queen.”

No warning comes. Lance is sent face-first into the earth by a explosion to the back of his head. He chokes on dirt, reaching up clumsily to shield the back of his head from a torrent of beak, claws, and shrieks. Buddy’s outraged cry is cottony and muffled. The weight is thrown off him. Lance spits out soil, pushing himself up. He doesn’t think—dives at the hurricane of angry squawks and forcibly wrenches the two apart.

“What is wrong with you?!” Lance shouts, his patience shattered. Queen shrinks at his yell. Lance falters at her reaction, a revelation tugging at his mind—

“Hey you!”

—until some dumb _idiot_  with a reedy voice interrupts them. Lance calls on every reserve of older-brother patience to keep himself from screaming.

When he looks up, kid with a cap tilted backwards and a Pokéball in hand is pointing at him brashly. “Yeah, you with the ugly piss-green jacket! Battle me!”

Lance fights the rude retort that comes automatically. Is this how Keith felt when Lance challenged him? A pang rocks through Lance, and he quickly pushes the thought away.

“Now’s not a good time,” Lance finally enunciates, except both Buddy and the Queen have stilled in his hands, nonplussed.

The kid crosses his arms. “Liar. Your wrestling session with your Pokémon just ended.”

“Wrestling session,” Lance repeats wryly, releasing his Pokémon. “I guess it did.”

That seems to be enough confirmation for the kid. He sends out his blue and black rat-lion thing and immediately launches it into an attack. “Shinx, use Spark on the Starly!”

Queen flaps into the air with ease, leaving the Shinx to stumble into the grass in a shower of electricity. Lance sends the boy a dirty look but quickly gets to his feet, shoving away his irritation to fixate on the recovering Shinx and the flattened grass.

“Use Spark, Shinx!” Shinx lunges.

“Come back, Queen,” Lance calls out. “This isn’t your fight.”

Lance frowns when Queen ignores him, pecking the Shinx’s head. Shinx swipes at her, but she soars out of reach.

“Queen?” he repeats cautiously. Queen does not acknowledge him, heckling Shinx by darting in and out and jabbing mockingly when its sparks crackle awry. The electricity snakes through the air, but dampens against the terrain. Lance feels the lingering frustration drain away, leaving him in a calculating mood.

“Huh,” he breathes.

The flapping, pecking, and clawing is a sight to behold when it’s not targeted at Lance. Lance observes the Shinx and its trainer grow increasingly irate with the Queen’s taunts, wincing sympathetically when the kid throws his cap on the ground in anger. Queen seems to gloat at this, growing more daring with each graceful swoop mirroring each ungainly stumble. He sees the exact moment when the Queen overconfidently swipes at Shinx’s ears mid-charge, electricity crackling brightly around them.

“Drop to the ground, Queen!” he shouts urgently. Lance is surprised when Queen immediately crashes painfully onto the grass past Shinx—and avoids the arc of electricity that whips the displaced air. Shinx scrabbles to reverse its momentum, kicking up clods of dirt and grass that dampen its charge.

Lance tenses. Queen is at an immense disadvantage on the ground, and any attempts to fly away will be too slow. She seems to know this, scrabbling onto her feet as the Shinx turns around.

“Let it come at you!” Lance exclaims, distinctly aware of the death wish. Once again, Lance is surprised when Her Majesty resolutely faces Shinx, wings spread, feathers puffed, head tilted up in that familiar imperious manner. She stares down the rapidly incoming comet of electricity, feathers dyed with lashing yellow.

Shinx collides with the Queen in an explosion of sparks. Glaring light and loud pops oversaturate the air, and Lance winces. Two cries pierce the deafening buzz, pain or triumph, Lance can’t tell. The overpowering bolts snake away to reveal the Queen crumpled on the grass, unmoving, Shinx standing with a deep scratch on its shoulder. Lance stares at scene, a black ring of charred grass encircling two downtrodden bodies, before withdrawing the Queen.

“Alright, Shinx!” the kid cheers. “Looks like a victory for us!”

“Did you forget my other Buddy, little dude?” Lance reminds him, figdeting restlessly with the Pokéball in his hand. Somewhere behind him, Buddy huffs in offense.

The kid frowns. “My name’s Joey, not ‘little dude’. And that’s not fair. I only have one Pokémon.”

“It wasn’t fair when you started with a surprise attack, either,” Lance counters sagely. Joey frowns and fidgets with his crossed arms, but Lance has enough experience in letting Beto stew in discomfort to know that Joey will break.

He does. Joey huffs dramatically and rolls his eyes. “Fine then!”

Buddy wastes no time in dashing forward. Joey immediately orders Shinx into a Spark—Tapu, does the kid ever switch it up?—but Buddy preempts the attack with a single Bubble. The sphere bursts at Shinx’s nose, and Shinx promptly and anticlimactically keels over. When Lance looks up, Joey is gaping.

“That’s not fair!” he squeals shrilly. Lance winces, glad all his brothers have reached puberty.

“Don’t be negative, kid. Be proud your Shinx put in such a great effort.”

“I’m not a kid!” Joey stomps petulantly. Lance does not take the obvious bait, instead motioning for Buddy to follow him. He ruffles the kid’s hair wildly as he passes and smirks at Joey’s ineloquent sputtering.

“Good battle, little dude. Keep your money,” Lance can’t resist tossing out.

He leaves to the sweet sound of Joey complaining loudly and indiscriminately. Lance grins, nostalgic. Beto has long outgrown being flustered by Lance’s antics.

With the Her Majesty the Queen XVIII fiasco and the subsequent battle, Lance is unable to make Balmera before nightfall. Lance and Buddy spend the last rays of daylight finding an elevated patch to set up camp, and they work together to clear the site, prop the tent, spread the sleeping bag, and light a small campfire in the middle of the enclosure. Lance watches the fire lick gently toward the canopy, rising higher with each shred of kindling he casts. If his family were here, Lance is certain he would see flames smoldering ethereally in their dark eyes.

Lance leaves food for Buddy, a helping of overpriced Pokémix he bought at the Mart with a side of spicy poffin and oran berries. As he watches Buddy chew the poffin enthusiastically, he rests a hand on the Pokéball strapped to his hip, throat closing uncomfortably. Staring into the fire, wondering how his own eyes gleam in flames, Lance works his throat into a swallow.

“Sorry for not giving you a chance,” he exhales unblinkingly. Buddy looks up briefly from his food, but immediately returns to feeding. Lance makes a note to buy more berries for the Queen.

Later, when Lance has eaten his energy bar and is wrapped tightly in the sleeping bag, he pulls out his clunky Pokégear, a relic from his father’s time as a trainer in Johto. It takes a few bangs against the ground, but the piece of junk miraculously catches a signal in the middle of Nowhere, Sinnoh. The machine drones obnoxiously for a few seconds before the noise abruptly derails.

A staticky image of his family flickers on the screen. Their screams feed across as ugly crackles, but Lance still finds himself laughing along. He takes in the faces crowding the dinky, discolored screen: Pipo, Mima, Mami, Arnulfo, Anton, Carla, and Beto. His family.

“¡Mijo! How is my baby? How are you?” Mami’s voice is pitched too low, and her consonants crackle uncomfortably.

“No te has metido en problemas, ¿verdad?2” Pipo’s tone is even more severe through the crap speakers.

Arnulfo probably rolls his eyes; Lance just sees a flicker of dark pixels. “It’s Lance. Claro que sí3.”

“Don’t break your leg this time,” Carla jeers, but the bite is lost with the distortion.

“Love you guys, too,” Lance retorts sardonically, but the wideness of his smile betrays him. Carla and Beto coo mockingly until Mima hushes them with a disapproving glare.

“How are you, mijo?” Mami asks warmly. “Here, everything’s good. We just finished breakfast. Anton got an offer to be the new Trial Captain. He’s going to train the young ones. He worked very hard with Incineroar yesterday. He might take over by the end of this year, mi jefecito4.”

Anton bashfully ducks his head, hiding behind Carla’s huge smirk.

“But enough about us. Not much happens here. Tell us about your travels, cariño.”

Something tight around his chest loosens. Lance inhales deeply, savoring the sensation of knots loosening, passages opening.

He exhales.

“Well, I caught a Starly today—which is like a Pikipek but rounder—and I had the brilliant idea to tackle her and shove her inside a Pokéball. Let me tell you what a mistake that was…”

\--

“Again.”

Chimchar scores a shallow mark into the bark of the tree. Keith scowls at the almost imperceptible imprint, bathed orange by Chimchar’s and Charmeleon’s flames.

“ _Again_.”

Chimchar Scratches again. The resulting mark is even more shallow. Keith closes his eyes and wills away the heat welling in his temples. _Patience yields focus_ , he clings onto desperately.

“Okay,” he says tightly, opening his eyes. “Charmeleon, why don’t you show Chimchar how it’s done?”

Charmeleon obediently pads up to the trunk and, in a flash of glinting claws, tears a deep gash into the tree. Bark flies, grazing Chimchar’s head. The paleness of the pith catches the yellow of her fire brightly, gleaming conspicuously against the surrounding dark orange of bark.

“Speed and commitment are key,” Keith advises productively. “You have the speed. You could probably do it faster than Charmeleon. But you’re not committing. You need to attack the tree like you mean it, or else you’ll just flounder around in battle and not do anything.” Keith successfully prevents himself from adding, _like yesterday_.

Chimchar, despite Keith’s succinct words, withdraws into himself silently. Keith ignores a prickle of apprehension and motions at the tree. Chimchar doesn’t move. Keith’s stomach roils, and he forcefully smooths his expression.

“Give it one more try,” he struggles out.

Chimchar doesn’t.

Keith recalls Chimchar and slumps against the tree, feeling sick. Charmeleon slinks under his arm, and he absently tightens his grip, biting his cheeks to force down the turbid churning inside of him. The heat prickles at his skin, makes him sweat, but he stubbornly latches onto Shiro’s words, _patience yields focus, patience yields focus_ , until the nausea recedes.

“I don’t want a new starter,” he mumbles into Charmeleon’s head. “I have you.”

Charmeleon remains a silent, solid presence in his arms. Keith wishes more people were like her.

Eventually, the awareness of wasted time overpowers his disconcertment. Keith forces himself to be productive, securing the site and finding a cradle in the branches to sleep on. He meticulously cleans the dust from the seams of his Pokétch, scribbles an account of the day’s proceedings in his journal, and marks his progress lightly on his map. He has a route planned, and if all goes well, he’ll have two badges by the end of the week.

When Keith finally settles into the tree, Charmeleon a comfort at its base, Keith leans back and stares at the sky. The constellations he marked religiously with Shiro are different this far in the north, but Keith finds comfort in translating each displaced twinkle to what he knows. It grounds him. Keith feels the uncomfortable warmth wash away.

In the middle of tracing his third constellation, Keith frowns when the stars at its base blink away from view. Keith props himself up, searching the horizon, growing alarmed when he realizes the invisible curtain is smoke. In the distance, Keith barely makes out the familiar glow of fire, contorting ominously in the horizon.

Keith frowns, unsettled. Premonition nags him as he sinks back into the branches.

Something has gone horribly wrong tonight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1 [Basically the smartwatch of the Sinnoh region.](https://bulbapedia.bulbagarden.net/wiki/Pok%C3%A9tch) [return to text]
> 
> 2You haven't gotten yourself in trouble, right?[return to text]
> 
> 3Obviously yes.[return to text]
> 
> 4my little boss[return to text]
> 
> Check out the art added to the first chapter, if you haven't already! As always, please feel free to correct my Spanish.


	3. Catalysts

Eterna Forest is silent at night.

Not the busy silent when Pidge loses track of time tinkering. Not the poisonous silent when Pidge fumes at Matt. Not even the empty silent of the hollow Holt mansion. This silence is constructed and intentional. This silence is alive.

A hoot emanates, and Pidge shrieks then flushes. She can almost hear Matt’s smarmy voice jeering, _Are you scared, sis?_

“Of course I am,” Pidge mutters, latching onto the sound of her voice. “Who wouldn’t be?”

The people of Eterna City regard the Forest with unease, if not outright fear. Pidge isn’t one for superstition and word of mouth, but the sheer number of wives’ tales about malicious faces in the night is enough to leave her with a tensed forehead that she can’t quite relax. Most likely mischievous but harmless ghost Pokémon, she reasoned when the sun set. That didn’t stop her from bringing as many Max Repels as possible.

The Max Repels seem to be working, if the utter silence is any indication. Pidge resprays herself every half-hour instead of the recommended two. Chemical odor bombards her nose, and her back aches under an overburdened travel pack, but Pidge ignores her bodily inconveniences, trudging forward stubbornly.

Something has been rustling the undergrowth behind her for some time now. Pidge ignores it. Her flashlight catches on overgrown grass. Dangling vines. When the beam pierces the dark between the trees, the space remains a void. Dust reflecting white against impenetrable dark. No Pokémon.

Pidge moves on.

The rustling continues behind her. Pidge ignores it. Her flashlights douses worn trail and overgrown grass with yellow. Vines snaking above. The black between trees look like festering eye sockets with specks of white. No Pokémon.

Pidge moves on.

The rustling seems closer. Pidge isn’t sure. Her flashlight shows overgrown grass and dangling vines. Dense trees with black gaps. Floating dust. No Pokémon.

Pidge moves on.

Something snaps. Pidge jumps, but it’s just a twig under her boot. Overgrown grass, dangling vines, black gaps. Dust. No Pokémon.

The rustling has stopped.

Pidge does not move.

Something giggles into her ear.

Pidge runs.

Crunching grass underneath her boots. She’s off the trail.

A giggle.

Pidge runs.

Backpack is heavy.

Something catching her foot. Pidge falls. A loud crack. Oh, her flashlight’s broken.

Cackling.

Her backpack is too heavy.

Something licks her ear.

Forget the backpack. Pidge bucks it away. She gets up.

Pidge runs.

Shadowy hands attacking. Branches. One whips her cheek.

Something is droning, screaming. Oh, it’s her. She’s screaming. Not just her. Something else is screaming, too.

Pidge runs.

Slams into something weird. Flat. Stone. Stone wall. House. Abandoned house.

Pinpricks on her neck. Her imagination?

No. _Claws_.

Pidge finds a handle. She pulls. She falls in.

The laughing stops.

The door slams.

Pidge is still.

The house is dark and silent.

No, something is breathing harshly. Oh, it’s her. There’s something on her face. Wet. Tears? No, blood. From the branches.

Pidge reaches for the ointment in her backpack. There is no backpack.

No backpack.

Pidge jolts.

“Are you kidding me?” she bellows. “Did I seriously leave my backpack out there? What the _fuck!_ ”

She blindly kicks a stone wall, then winces when her toes crumple. She is lucid enough to feel the wet gashes on her cheek. Great. Just great. Just fucking wonderful!

“Forget about ghosts,” she snaps, pawing the wall blindly. “It’s _infection_ that’ll do me in. I’m gonna stay in this creepy shack forever and waste away into a slow and painful death. _Just my luck!_ ”

A voice that sounds a lot like her normal self is frantically telling her to shut up, but Pidge ignores it like she ignored the smart decision to not leave her backpack behind. She continues sliding along the wall, swearing vehemently, until she stumbles into something bulky. A cacophony of shattering glass pierces the silence, echoing ominously in the oppressive silence.

Pidge freezes.

The house is as dark and silent as ever.

Suddenly, a square of blue lights up. Pidge shrieks and falls back against the wall. For a moment, Pidge can see the dilapidated furnishings of the house—no, _manor_ —in a sharp, artificial blue: the patchy artisan tile-work that must’ve once been beautiful, the crumpled forms of tasteful lamps and coiling flower pots, the staticky glow of an antiquated TV. Then the TV cuts, and like a smothered flame, the manor submerges back into darkness.

Something giggles.

Pidge’s heart seizes as a bolt of artificial blue streaks past her. She whips around, but her jerky movements only catch the fading tail of the blue bolt. A grating, digital cackle dances around her. Pidge throws herself around frantically until she finally catches the orb leading the ribbons of blue light.

The imp’s maniacal smile giggles at her.

Before she can react, the imp streaks right at her and disappears.

Moments pass. The house remains dark and silent. Pidge finally pulls herself out of the cower to prop herself against the wall, trembling violently. Vaguely, she registers the haze of apathy as shock, but she takes advantage of the dissociation to regather herself. No new injuries since the chase in the woods, and no sign of the blue-bolt imp—most certainly the rumored ghost Pokémon she was looking for.

Pidge has no Pokéballs. She has no potions, no flashlight, no medical equipment, no backpack. She has nothing to catch the ghost, and nothing to brave the forest. The smartest thing to do is wait until dawn in the empty, dilapidated mansion and make a run for Eterna City.

Idly, she thinks Professor Coran was right. Then she thinks of her family. A flicker of something briefly peeks through the apathy. She sits against the wall, measuring her breaths and playing with the Pokétch on her wrist.

Pidge frowns when the Pokétch stutters a pattern of artificial blue before settling in its default menu. A revelation is nagging at her, but the exhaustion and apathy force it away.

She’ll worry about it at dawn.

\--

Balmera City is so. Fucking. Cool.

Excuse the Kalosian, but Lance firmly believes that even Mami would throw out a few fancy words at the sight of an entire city run by glittering, milky-blue crystals. Lance amuses himself by stepping to and from the Balmera crystals, enjoying the sensation of crossing into an energy field, sort of like stepping into an air-conditioned building on a sweltering day. The Mining Museum is also insane, even if the fossil-revival dude at the counter is an asshole. Best of all, when Lance stands at a certain angle beneath the crystal monument at the center of the city, the refracted light makes a gorgeous rainbow halo perfect for selfies.

Lance takes many selfies.

“Dude, this is definitely my best one,” Lance purrs, sending his favorite to Hunk. “Look at that three-quarters angle. The halo really outlines my cheekbones.”

“Yeah, nice one,” Hunk agrees distractedly. Lance frowns.

“Hey, man. Is something up? You’re more out of it than usual.”

Hunk is looking at something off-screen. A muffled voice says something at him, and Hunk frowns imperceptibly before turning back to Lance with a tense smile. “Yeah, I’m good, Lance. Sorry, just thinking about how to cross Mount Coronet.”

Lance perks up. “Oooh. Who was that? Did you find a future Mrs. Garrett to follow you around?”

Hunk cringes. “Just someone I met in the forest.”

“The forest? Ah, a survival-romance,” Lance croons while Hunk groans. “You go, tiger!”

“Are you ready to challenge the Balmera gym?” Hunk desperately changes the topic.

Lance beams. “Hell yeah! Buddy, Queen, and I’ve been training all the way here. There’s no way we’re not ready.”

“Are you sure it’s a good idea to immediately challenge the gym?” Hunk warns. “I know Buddy has a type advantage, but these gym leaders probably know how to counter that. Maybe try training around the city first?”

“I’m sure Buddy and Queenie are gonna kick ass,” Lance says resolutely.

Hunk relents with a smile. “Good luck, man,” he says sincerely.

“Call me when you cross the mountain,” Lance returns with a grin. “And keep me updated on the Mrs. Garrett situation.”

Lance hangs up before Hunk finishes groaning his name.

The front of the Balmera City Gym is ostentatious; jutting rocks form a cliff face for a façade, and at the crest a meticulously carved and inlaid Balmera crystal gleams beautifully in the sunlight. Inside, uneven rock faces line the open chamber like cavern walls. Lance is surprised to find the curves of the rock feel natural rather than meticulously carved by workers. The guide explains that the first gym leader built the gym by using water Pokémon to gradually erode the rock, respecting the natural formation of the caves that sustain the city’s livelihood.

His first opponent is a young man with weathered hands and a characteristic Balmeran mining helmet atop his head. The man sends him a polite smile before releasing a boulder-like Pokémon with gravelly arms: a Geodude. Lance sends out Buddy in response.

The matchup is decisive. Geodude is slow, heavy, and designed to build up momentum, but Buddy knocks it out with a Bubble before it even starts its first Rollout. The second Pokémon fares better; the alien-looking, dome-shaped Pokémon—Kabuto, Lance learns from the miner’s yells—doesn’t wince at Buddy’s Bubble. Lance orders Buddy into a second Bubble—

—but the Kabuto is engulfed in a syrupy green aura. It darts forward surprisingly quickly and latches onto Buddy with the green before Buddy can attack. Lance gapes as the green clings onto Buddy’s feathers, pulling in a way that makes Buddy yelp. Buddy launches Kabuto away with a Bubble, stumbling, warbling in pain.

“Absorb,” Lance’s opponent explains simply. “A grass-type attack that heals the user.”

Lance scans Buddy worriedly. Scathed, but mostly fine, if the angrily puffed feathers are any indication. Still, Lance bites his lip and calls out, “Buddy, switch with the Queen!”

Buddy turns to glare at him, chirping indignantly. Lance looks firmly back and recalls him. Buddy’s outraged screech is cut off by the beam of red light.

“Good job,” he murmurs apologetically to the Pokéball in his hands. Lance sends out Her Majesty, who eyes the battle in distaste.

Her Majesty carves into the dead cavern air like an artist, dodging the sharp claws of the Kabuto with ease. Kabuto’s Absorbs land, but Queen shakes them off with no more than a harrumph.

“Harden, Kabuto,” the miner commands. Kabuto retreats, a glittering shield forming over its dome.

“Attack it before it builds up its defense!” Lance shouts hastily. The Queen sends him a nasty glare before diving at the Kabuto. Lance winces. _I guess she still doesn’t like taking orders._

Queen rockets into a fierce Scratch. It launches the stiff Kabuto into the air. Queen jerks forward with a finishing Peck—

“Toxic, Kabuto,” the miner growls.

Kabuto suddenly coils like a readied spring. It spits a glowing miasma at Queen, splattering her white feathers with a sickening purple slime. Queen squawks and slams the Kabuto ferociously. She doesn’t stop beating the Kabuto into the ground, even when the miner recalls its unconscious form.

“Woah, Queen, chill!” Lance shouts frantically, running toward the Queen. The Starly briefly looks up from her rage, and Lance winces at the dark intent in her eyes. Queen begins to dive straight for his head. Lance hastily fumbles for her Pokéball and recall her. At the sight of sharp beak and claws disappearing in a bath of red light, Lance cradles his head in his hands and groans.

“Good battle.”

A slow applause alerts Lance from his misery. Lance looks up to see a stocky, broad-shouldered man at the wall of the cavern clapping solemnly, the defeated opponent at his side. The man steps up to him and extends an olive hand, which Lance shakes firmly.

“Lance, sir,” he introduces.

“Rax, gym leader,” the man replies in a even voice, causing Lance’s stomach to drop. “That was an interesting match. You and your Pokémon have a lot of spirit, if not the experience in how to handle it.” Rax drops his hand and crosses his arms. “I assume you’re here to challenge me for the Crystal Badge?”

Lance’s stomach is trying to eat itself, but he pastes on his most winning grin. “’Fcourse, sir.”

Rax eyes him critically before stepping back. “You have a lot of guts, I’ll give you that.”

Lance winks. “You know what they say. Fake it ‘til you make it.”

Rax seems to smile faintly before turning coolly to the miner. “Prepare the field for battle.”

“And the badges, sir?” the miner questions. Rax shakes his head.

“Not today.”

Lance feels sick as he watches the miner dart away. He turns to face Rax, who has moved to the other end of the chamber. The jagged, faceted expanse of the battlefield stretches between them, and it makes the impending battle feel awfully grand.

“Lance, how many Pokémon do you have?” Rax bellows across the cavern.

“Two!”

“Then we’ll have a 2v2 single battle, no items, thirty-minute limit. Sound good?”

“Great!”

Rax tosses a ball smoothly. A cascade of red light fuses into a round, stocky form. Lance stares at what looks like a floating rock encrusted with icy blue jewels, wide bunny ears peeking out from a head swaddled in a fluffy collar. It teeters in the air like something straight out of a cartoon.

With a sinking gut, Lance realizes that he has never seen a Pokémon like this before.

“Carbink,” Rax calls out, as if sensing his unease. “Native to Kalos, although our Balmeran mines have become a second home for these Pokémon over the years.”

 _Obviously a rock-type_ , Lance thinks frantically. But something tells him it has a secondary type. Lance shakes his head, clearing his thoughts. A rock-type is a rock-type, weak to water. Lance sends out Buddy.

Buddy forms in the rocky field with a put-out sulk, obviously grumpy from being recalled. A pang of concern threatens his focus, but Lance holds firmly onto his clarity, breathing in and out steadily. Lance has faith in Buddy. Sure enough, Buddy shakes off the sulk and leans eagerly toward the battlefield.

“Start with a Bubble, Bud!”

A jet of bubbles bursts from Buddy’s beak and launches across the field. It hits the Carbink with violent pops, causing it to wobble.

“Sunny Day, Carbink,” Rax commands simply.

Both Lance and Buddy wince when an overpowering beam of light opens above the Carbink, radiating sunlight onto the cave floor. The artificial rays reflect brilliantly against the Carbink’s crystals, gleaming rainbow haloes across the uneven terrain and the walls of the cave.

“Get back in the battle, Bud!” Lance yells, shielding his eyes from the glare. “Another Bubble!”

Buddy trills a war cry and launches another jet of bubbles—but they shrivel up in the sun and fizzle ineffectually against Carbink. Lance swears, realizing the disadvantage of the Sunny Day suddenly.

“Buddy, get close and Pound!” Buddy darts forward determinedly, fins raised.

“I don’t think so,” Rax interjects calmly. “Use Protect, Carbink.”

With a leap, Buddy whips his fin onto the Carbink—but bounces off harmlessly against a force field. Undeterred, Buddy throws the momentum of the recoil into a second Pound that shatters the shield and lands solidly against the Carbink. Carbink doesn’t even flinch.

 _A second hit can break through_ , Lance notes raptly. He can use this. He can turn this arou—

“Toxic, Carbink!” Rax shouts.

Neither Buddy nor Lance can react before Carbink makes a familiar coiling motion. At close range, the miasma of Toxic doesn’t miss. Buddy is splattered with purple, causing him to hiss in pained surprise.

By now, the battle is already over. Buddy does not go down immediately, desperately throwing Pounds and Bubbles without abandon, but the sting of the Toxic and the ineffectiveness of his attacks wear him down. He soon collapses onto the jagged terrain, exhausted.

Lance recalls Buddy grimly. “Good job, Bud,” he whispers subduedly into the Pokéball.

Another decisive defeat, despite a type advantage.

 This is not the first time Lance has lost, but this is the first time he’s been outplayed. His only other overwhelming loss was to Keith, but that was more due to the sheer strength of Keith’s Charmeleon than to clever strategy.

But Lance still has one more Pokémon.

“C’mon, Queen! I believe in you!” he shouts as he launches the Pokéball in the air.

Queen coalesces in the air, her feathers still tinged with a sickly purple. Her wings seem to drag tiredly in the dead air.

“Do your best, Queen!” Lance encourages.

Queen does not react, which worries Lance more than anything else.

The battle is hopeless. Queen weaves in and out of the Carbink’s guard sluggishly, clashing gratingly with the shield of Protect more often than the Carbink itself. Lance watches the Carbink’s Protect raptly, desperately searching for any break in its guard.

“Let’s finish this,” Rax says gravely. “Smack Down.”

Carbink launches a small rock in the air. It arcs beautifully in a moment of slow motion, before landing solidly on Queen’s back and slamming her into the ground. Rock and debris launch toward the Carbink, which it deflects with a Protect. Lance latches onto the cracks along the force field that converge at its top, the dust that sprinkles gently onto its body, like snow in a glass globe.

Found it.

But too late. Queen is crumpled on the ground, unmoving.

Lance recalls Queen with a murmured “good work”. He watches Rax’s approach, awaiting his words.

“You should train your Pokémon in our mines at the south of the city,” he says simply.

Lance waits for something else. When nothing comes, he nods politely and shoots a cheery goodbye with a grin plastered onto his face. The smile cracks slightly under the gym guide’s sympathetic look, but he successfully leaves the gym upright.

As soon as the sun’s warmth gently touches his skin, Lance sags.

Lance makes his way to the Pokémon Center in the setting sun. He briefly admires the gleam of the crystal monument in the orange of dusk, but it doesn’t inspire him like it did before. Lance enters the inviting building, heals his Pokémon at the nurse’s counter, and begins to leave the building, when suddenly he’s shouldered aside.

“Watch where you’re going!” he snaps, then feels his eyes widen. Keith throws an absent “sorry” at him and marches into the building.

Lance stands still in shock before hurriedly stumbling back inside.

“Yo, Keith!” he shouts.

Keith is at the counter, handing his Pokéballs to the nurse. He looks up with the same expressive, confused eyes he wore at their first meeting.

“Do I know you?”

The déjà vu pours a bucket of ice water over Lance’s shoulders. Lance’s hands clench into fists.

“Yeah, you do,” Lance drawls slowly. “Lance McClain, remember? We met on the route from Castle Town. You battled my Piplup. Then insulted me a lot and left.”

Keith seems taken aback by Lance’s hostility. His brow furrows as he thinks, and Lance sees the exact moment of recognition in those wide eyes.

“I didn’t insult you,” Keith says with a frown. The nurse cheerfully tells him his Pokémon are ready, and he absently takes the balls back into his hands. “You insulted _me_.”

Lance bites down the angry retort that rises in his throat. Instead, he says, “You’re here for the gym challenge, right? How many badges do you have?”

Keith shrugs. “Two.”

Lance gapes. “ _Two?_ ”

“Yeah.” Keith is frowning again. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“You’ve only been in Sinnoh for like a week! How do you already have two badges?”

Keith crosses his arms, scowling. “I just do, okay?”

“Which ones?”

“The Metal Badge and the Forest Badge.”

Lance mentally envisions Hunk’s map and eyeballs the distance between Canalave City and Eterna City. He scowls.

“Don’t lie to me. There’s no way you traveled all the way between Canalave, Castle, Eterna, _and_ Balmera on top of beating two gyms in just a week!”

Keith bristles. “Well, I did. I’m not a liar.”

Lance scoffs bitterly. “Yeah, right.”

“I’m not!” Keith explodes.

Lance laughs darkly. “That’s exactly what a liar would say!”

For a moment, Keith looks like he’s going to punch Lance. Instead, he makes a strangled, ear-grating noise and begins to stomp away.

“Yeah, go and run you coward! You liar!” Keith’s fists clench at his sides, and a small, easily-ignored part of Lance warns him that this is not a good idea. “Look at you! You won’t even battle me ‘cause you’ll just prove me right. You’re a liar, Keith, a liar, liar, pants on fire—“

Keith whips around and decks Lance in the jaw. Lance stumbles back in shock.

For a moment, Keith glances between his fist and Lance’s swelling jaw in something resembling disbelief and possibly regret. He opens his mouth to speak, but Lance’s hand is already slipping around his Pokéballs, Keith’s moving to his belt—

The Pokémon Center plunges into chaos.

Red light splashes on clinical white walls. When it clears, Lance has tackled Keith onto the ground, and they scrabble violently against the tile. Charmeleon leaps over the pandemonium, breathing fire into a crowd that screams and scatters. Buddy shrieks amidst the parted crowd and douses the air with bubbles. Water soaks Lance’s back as a well-placed punch knocks Keith’s douchey cap away. Keith roars and headbutts him.

Things break and crash. Lance cradles his aching nose, but Keith twists, and suddenly, Lance is in a chokehold. Lance squawks and elbows behind him, but something slams into both of them. They crash into a table—someone screams amidst the clattering—and Charmeleon launches off of them to torpedo into a fort of upturned tables. Keith—stubborn bastard—is still choking Lance. Lance bucks and squirms, then tries to bite Keith’s hand, but no use, he can’t reach it, Keith’s a fucking _asshole_ —

Suddenly, Keith twists Lance around by the collar, dark eyes and flaring nostrils way too close. “Stop fucking pissing me off!” he screams.

Something crashes onto the ground to Lance’s right. A blur of blue as Buddy vaults a table, shouting water at Charmeleon.

Lance glares hatefully at Keith. “How ‘bout you remember my name first, you _liar_?”

Keith’s face contorts, and Lance feels a pinch of fear break through his rage. Keith surges forward, and Lance braces himself—

A burst of smoke blinds Lance. The fingers twisting Lance’s collar are yanked away, and Lance stumbles back. The smoke fades to reveal a lithe, lupine Pokémon crouched between Lance and a startled Keith, its two paws outstretched toward both of them. The Pokémon meets Lance’s gaze solemnly before bright blue spheres begin distorting the air in front of its paws. Lance only has time to think _oh shi_ — before the sphere shoots from its hand and slams him against the wall.

Lance groans, sliding down the wall, when he feels a steamy breath and drool on the back of his neck. He shrieks and twists around, catching a glimpse of a giant wolf-like Pokémon biting onto his hood. Its red eyes meet his darkly. Lance shrieks again.

“Can one of you tell me why you thought it’d be a good idea to fight in a Pokémon Center?” an exasperated voice asks.

The deadpan tone jolts Lance out of his terror. Lance gulps, then slowly tears his eyes away from the wolf to face the Pokémon Center.

The Pokémon Center is a mess. Tables are overturned. Shattered flower pots litter the floor. Scorch marks and sooty footprints streak across the counters, the furniture, the walls. A ceiling tile dangles haphazardly from a corner. A light is broken, blinking sadly in the destruction. Wide-eyed trainers and nurses huddle fearfully behind counters and in corners.

Surrounded by the destruction, Buddy and Charmeleon strain toward each other, their feet trapped in a thick blanket of ice. Between them, a beautiful Alolan Ninetails sits calmly atop the impromptu ice rink. Across from Lance, Keith’s arms are restrained by the same lupine Pokémon that blasted them apart. In the center of the mess, a tall, wide-shouldered man stands with crossed arms, scowling disapprovingly. Lance’s heart stops when he recognizes the man.

“Will both of you behave if I let you go?” Sinnoh Champion Takahashi Shirogane grumbles.

Both Lance and Keith nod mutely.

The Champion sighs. “Lucario. Mightyena. Ninetails. Let them go.”

As soon as the pinpoints disappear from the back of his neck, Lance rockets away from the gargantuan Mightyena. Keith pulls away from Lucario gracefully, then turns away from Lance with crossed arms.

After Champion Shirogane recalls every Pokémon and makes sure no one is injured, he apologizes profusely to the head nurse and promises to pay for the damages. Keith and Lance stand awkwardly in the mess, shooting each other poisonous looks that are dampened by the guilty slump of their shoulders. Shirogane then drags both of them out by the collar and sits them on a stone staircase, looking disapprovingly over them in uncomfortable silence.

“Champion Shirogane,” Lance starts tentatively, his voice shaking. “I am _so_ sorry for the mess. I promise you this isn’t—,”

“Where have you been?” Keith cuts him off aggressively.

Lance gasps, offended for both himself and the Champion. He feels like he’s having an aneurysm when Champion Shirogane just sighs.

“What do you mean, ‘where have I been?’” the Champion says exasperatedly. “I’ve been flying around Sinnoh checking in on my gym leaders and making sure everything’s okay, until I hear about a scuffle in a Pokécenter in the city I went to for a _well-deserved break_ , just to find out you got into another fight, Keith. I cannot express how disappointed I am in you.”

Lance gapes. He gapes even harder when Keith wilts.

“Sorry, Shiro,” he mumbles, and isn’t that the punchline? Keith calling Sinnoh Champion Takahashi Shirogane _Shiro_.

Champion Shirogane keeps up the disapproving glare for a few moments more before it melts away with a resigned sigh. When his eyes meets Lance’s again, he’s wearing a patient smile.

“I’m just glad that no one is hurt, and that both of you are very sorry. I don’t care what the reasons were for the fight, but I expect better from both of you, Keith, young man.”

Lance makes a dying noise when Champion Shirogane nods at him.

“What’s your name?”

Lance forces his paralyzed jaw to start working again. “Uh—I—I’m, uh, Lance. McClain. Sir.”

“Well, Lance, I’ve known Keith for years. He has a bit of a temper, so if you ever meet him again, you’ll have to be the more mature one,” he says solemnly.

“Hey!” Keith yelps. Shirogane’s straight face breaks, and he ruffles Keith’s hair with a chuckle. Lance’s eyes dart rapidly between Keith’s flushed expression and Shiro’s smug grin.

Hovering around Keith and the Champion of Sinnoh enthusiastically exchanging plans is the most awkward experience of Lance’s life. Considering Lance’s history of fucking up and making a fool out of himself, this is saying something. Something sour is rising in Lance’s gut. When he recognizes it as jealousy, he pushes it away, answers Shirogane’s casual question with a mischievous quip, and pretends not to notice the way Keith’s expression shuts down when Shirogane invites him into the conversation.

Finally, Shirogane steps back. Keith stands up abruptly to follow. Shirogane is the only one to turn to a still-seated Lance with a friendly smile.

“Have a good one, Lance,” he says kindly.

“You too,” Lance returns with a weak wave.

Lance watches Keith and Champion Shirogane walk away, chatting animatedly with one another. They look straight out of a cheesy action movie, walking into the sunset, framed by clouds painted in striking oranges, reds, and purples, leaving Lance behind.

Lance doesn’t realize he’s standing until he’s already shouting.

“Keith! Listen up!” Shirogane and Keith both stop and turn to him in surprise. “My name is Lance González McClain! I’m the third child of Maria González and Robert McClain! I’m from Melemele Island in the Alola region! And I have an amazing Piplup and one heck of a Starly who’re gonna kick your ass one day! Don’t you dare forget!”

For a moment, Keith stands in silence. Then, he yells:

“Give me a reason to remember!”

Lance doesn’t watch the rest of their departure. He picks himself up to look for lodging in the night.

At Keith’s side, Shiro watches the young man leave. He tears his eyes away when Keith turns around with a frustrated huff. Shiro looks at his companion contemplatively until Keith notices and sends him a confused frown.

“What?” he asks defensively.

Shiro observes Keith’s expression a moment more before turning to face the sunset. “Nothing,” he says with a faint smile.

Shiro knows without looking that Keith is scowling right now. _Nothing changes_ , Shiro thinks fondly, then thinks back to Lance and the intensity of his eyes.

 _Everything might_ , Shiro amends.

\--

Hunk yawns, enjoying the ambiance of Eterna Forest at dawn.

Make no mistake, Hunk isn’t much for waking early. But he has to admit that the gently rustling leaves, the quiet murmurs of rousing Pokémon, the sound of leaf litter crunching underneath his boots are worth the five alarms. A bug-catching net rests on his shoulders, and plenty of Net Balls line his utility belt. With luck and perseverance, Hunk might leave Eterna Forest with a new buggy companion.

There are a few moments of Gastly and Misdreavus trying to scare him by giggling sinisterly, but Hunk has been subject to too many cruel pranks by Lance’s siblings to be particularly affected. Don’t get him wrong—plop him in a haunted house, or a rollercoaster, or a zombie apocalypse, and Hunk will be terrified out of his mind. But Hunk has developed a incredibly advanced bullshit radar over the years, and a few amateur ghost Pokémon aren’t enough to scare him. The Gastly and Misdreavus eventually slink away in disappointment when he doesn’t react.

Hunk stumbles across an abandoned backpack and a broken flashlight looking like something out of a crime scene. The backpack has been opened and picked through, no doubt by the curious ghost Pokémon, but there are enough supplies inside for Hunk to feel obligated to return it to its owner. He heaves the pack onto his shoulder over his own backpack and trudges on, wondering how he’ll find the owner.

In the end, he doesn’t have to try. Hunk startles when a small body rams into him, looking down to see a wide-eyed, haggard-looking girl recoiling from his body as if she hit a freight train.

“Hey, hey, hey, calm down,” Hunk soothes when she eyes him warily. “I’m Hunk. I’m just exploring the forest to catch some bug Pokémon. What are you doing out here by yourself?”

The girl’s eyes narrow dangerously. Her gaze switches to the found backpack on his back, and her expression turns murderous.

“What are you doing with _my_ backpack?” she hisses. Hunk raises a placating hand, swinging the bag down to hand it to her. She snatches it away hastily, even though the weight of the bag immediately lurches her arms to the ground. She glares distrustfully at Hunk while she slings the bag over her shoulders.

“What’s a young girl like you doing in Eterna Forest so early in the morning?” Hunk asks before the girl can stomp away. She turns around, offended.

“I’m not a _young girl_ ,” she huffs, even though she most definitely is a young girl. “And that’s none of your business.”

“Look, I’m just asking because I’m worried, and it kinda goes against my moral compass to see you get into trouble.” The girl bristles, and Hunk hurriedly rushes out, “Let me at least heal your Pokémon before you leave.”

At that, the girl scowls and crosses her arms. Hunk stares at her, growing increasingly alarmed.

“You don’t have any Pokémon,” he says faintly. The girl scowls more deeply. “You went into Eterna Forest without any Pokémon.”

“And I’m leaving Eterna Forest without any Pokémon,” she snaps almost bitterly. She turns away, but Hunk chases after her.

“Wait! At least let me know you’ll be safe wherever you’re going.”

The girl ignores him.

“Or at least, let me come with you to make sure you’re safe!”

This stops her. She turns around, bewildered and belligerent.

“Why the hell do you care?”

“’Cause this is super sketchy, and I’m not gonna stand by and let someone walk into a super sketchy situation without it haunting my conscience forever, so, like, maybe let me help you for my peace of mind?”

The girl just stares at him before turning to face him fully.

“Pidge,” she says simply. It takes a moment for Hunk to realize it’s a name.

“Nice to meet you, Pidge. Now where are we going?”

Pidge turns away, staring through the canopy of the forest grimly. Between the lattice of leaves, Hunk barely makes out the impression of a sharp, jagged form looming against the lightening sky.

“Mount Coronet.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay for this update. Had to deal with finals and commissions before I could churn this out. Feedback is appreciated, and thanks for reading!


	4. Climb

Hunk doesn’t pick up.

Lance only allows himself a few seconds of staticky silence before he hangs up. He doesn’t call again, dismissing the anxious whispers that rush through his mind at his friend’s unusual silence.

He looks at his Pokémon, who are sulking poisonously in the shadow of the crystal monument. Sat on the stairs leading up to the monument’s platform, Lance sighs, then cringes because he’s way too young to be sighing like Pipo does every damn minute of his life.

“Rough day?”

It’s an old woman who approaches him, stepped forward from the stream of pedestrians. She’s weathered, but the laugh-lines on her jowls and the smile of her crow’s feet air a sense of youth. The two sets of Balmeran-style hoops on her ears glint beautifully in the morning light. At her gentle look, Lance feels the acerbic retort die on his tongue.

“Yeah, yesterday,” he grumbles instead. “Got my butt kicked by the gym leader. Then ran into the bane of my existence, who forgot my name and also just happens to be best buddies with the champion of Sinnoh. Next thing I know, I’m here tryna ignore the fact that my bestest friend isn’t picking up my calls and figure out how to deal with my Pokémon without them killing each other.”

The woman glances between Buddy and Queen, who face away from each other in mirroring stances of resentment. She makes a sympathetic noise and sits next to Lance.

“What will you do now?”

Lance shrugs. “Practice in the mines until I get badge número uno without embarrassing myself too badly, I guess.”

“Of course. And your Pokémon?”

“Obviously, I’ll cheer ‘em up,” he offers grouchily. “I mean, that’s my contribution to society. Make bad jokes and talk like a douche until people stop being dicks and start laughing. It’s kinda hard when I feel like writing bad poetry and listening to Fall Out Boy for three hours, though. Not that I ever do that. My little brother’s going through a phase, and sharing a room with him forces emo music on you through osmosis.”

The woman laughs instead of cringing at his incoherent rambling. “Well, why are you upset?”

“Because no one takes me seriously!” he explodes, startling Buddy into a jump. “Because everyone thinks that just ‘cause I’m new to this that my Pokémon are weak and that I can’t—we can’t— _go_ places, be a kickass team. I’m not asking to be the best of the best! I just want people to stop looking down on us!”

Silence. Lance realizes that he’s breathing harshly and forcefully calms himself. Both the woman and his Pokémon are looking intently at him, now.

“Young man, who are you trying to please?” the woman says bluntly. Lance sputters, but she grabs his chin and forces his head around. “Look at your Pokémon. Do you see how they look to you for guidance? Why are they upset? Don’t tell me, it only matters that _you_ know.”

She releases his chin, and her voice gentles from the startlingly hard tone. “You’re a bright young man. I hear the conviction in your voice. But tell me, trainer, what is more important to you: the affirmation of strangers around you? Or the faith your Pokémon place in you?”

Buddy chirrups and waddles forward, bumping into Lance’s knee affectionately. A vivid memory of their first meeting overwhelms Lance, and he rests his hand on Buddy’s back before he gets too choked up. Lance sends a wobbly smile to Queen, but she stays away.

“Never thought I’d experience the ‘wisdom from a stranger’ trope in real life,” Lance can’t resist quipping.

The old woman smacks his shoulder, which is the most unsagely action he’s seen from her yet. “Didn’t your parents teach you not to ruin the moment?”

Lance opens his mouth, reconsiders, then strokes Buddy’s soft down instead.

They stay like this, watching their shadows shorten, listening to people walk by. Time passes. Lance breathes.

“Do you feel better now?” the woman finally asks.

The knots in Lance’s chest are loosened. “Yeah,” he exhales.

“Do you know what to do?”

“Yes,” Lance says resolutely.

The woman stands up, brushing dust off her skirt. She sends him another smile, gentle and compassionate in a way that shocks him in how much it reminds him of Mami.

“Then go.”

\--

Standing guard while Pidge breaks into a property, Hunk wonders what he got himself into.

Hunk didn’t think much of Pidge’s demands to visit Eterna City, at first; it’s a popular stopover before a well-known route through the mountains, after all. But when Pidge began skulking through the streets like a bloodthirsty Lycanroc, Hunk began to have some doubts. When Pidge stopped at a gated property, emptied her backpack at Hunk’s feet, and jumped the iron fence, Hunk knew he done goofed.

Hunk is currently trying not to freak out.

Clanging behind him causes him to startle. He turns around to see Pidge vaulting the fence, except the weight of her swollen backpack lurches her down bag-first. Hunk rushes to help her up.

“What the hell just happened?” he hisses. “Did you just rob a house?”

Pidge grunts in pain. “It’s technically not robbery. Don’t worry about it.”

A pained noise escapes Hunk’s throat. Pidge just rolls her eyes and shoves an armful of supplies into Hunk’s chest expectantly. Hunk stuffs the items into his bag in horror.

Pidge insists on heading for Mount Coronet immediately, but Hunk puts his foot down on visiting the Pokémon Center first. The walk there is silent. Hunk can’t help frowning whenever he glances at the dark rings underneath Pidge’s eyes. Pidge doesn’t seems to notice his scrutiny, instead stares listlessly at the pavement beneath them.

When they reach the Pokémon Center, Pidge pounces on the PC before Hunk even fully enters the building. Hunk heals his Pokémon in resignation, ignoring the ferocious hammering of the keyboard in the background. After grabbing his Pokéballs from the nurse, he sinks into a seat with a groan.

He needs to call Lance.

The call goes well, mostly. Hearing Lance ramble excitedly about dumb things reassures Hunk in a way that only Lance can. Halfway through, Pidge plops down next to him, scowling.

“Can we leave?” she demands petulantly.

In the corner of Hunk’s eye, Lance perks up on the small Pokétch screen. Hunk can practically hear the spark go off in his drama-thirsty mind.

“After this call,” Hunk replies reluctantly, ignoring Lance’s barely contained smirk. Tapu strike him down, he’s going to have to deal with a week of Lance being nosy and melodramatic.

“Close friend?” Pidge grunts when Lance hangs up.

“Best friends since we were in diapers. Did everything you needed on the PC?”

A shadow crosses Pidge’s expression. “There were some technical difficulties.”

What does that even mean? Tapu, this girl is so fishy.

The route to Mount Coronet is oddly silent. Hunk sends out ‘Twig to battle Pokémon in the tall grass, but there’s no rustling, save for their clumsy bodies wading through the stalks. Pidge marches on, seemingly unaware of the quiet, but for Hunk, someone who grew up surrounded by wild Pokémon, the silence is pointed. Foreboding.

When they reach the rope bridges suspended high above a barely visible body of water, whistling wind replaces the non-movement of overgrown grass. Hunk has to tilt his head all the way back to see Mount Coronet’s peak. As they cross the quivering bridge, the crown fades into rapidly darkening sky. Hunk knows because he keeps his eyes on the peak to avoid looking down.

On solid ground, Hunk sinks onto shaky knees and groans. Pidge points impatiently at the mountain wall in front of them, at the barely perceptible entrance nestled cozily in the rocks.

“Look for signs of a big group making their way through the tunnels,” Pidge orders. “Footprints, unnatural dips or curves in the rocks, unsettled debris in wide-open spaces, and the like.”

Pidge doesn’t wait for his response, just immediately starts hiking toward the entrance. Hunk groans again. This girl is _so damn fishy_.

With many regrets, Hunk follows her into Mount Coronet.

\--

Queen follows the wild Zubat intently, flapping furiously against the dead cave air.

From below, Lance watches her, tracking their path across the chamber, noting the wider arcs of her turns, her frantic wingbeats in contrast to the Zubat’s staccato flaps. He switches his attention to Buddy, who taunts a Geodude into a Rollout and dives out of its way, crashing clumsily into the rough cave terrain.

They’re both tense, Lance can tell. Buddy is oddly twitchy and aggressive. Queen is in a nasty mood and sends Lance spiteful glares at any chance. Lance has no idea why Queen is pissed at him, but he channels the nascent hurt into concentration.

“Buddy, try dodging to your left!” he shouts.

Buddy, already careening toward his right, tries to throw his momentum around. He’s too slow; the Geodude crashes into him like a bowling ball and knocks him aside. Panicked, Buddy sprays a Bubble blindly, saturating the air with thin circles of reflected crystal light. Zubat weaves between the bubbles elegantly. Queen does not.

Queen caws indignantly at the pops that soak her feathers. She stumbles midair, her wingbeats heavy. She’s smacked suddenly onto the ground by a flailing Buddy. Queen shrieks, but Buddy frantically points her gaze at an incoming Geodude in Rollout.

“Bubble, quick!” Lance shouts hurriedly.

Buddy hastily launches a jet of bubbles. They hit the Geodude straight on, slowing its momentum and fainting it mid-roll. Stray bubbles pop against Queen, who beats her wings furiously. The Zubat flies away.

Before Lance can sigh in relief, Queen smacks Buddy’s face with a wing. Buddy screeches in outrage, then Queen does it again. It would be hilarious, the deadpan slaps of Queen’s wings against Buddy’s increasingly huffy expression, if not for the dangerous glint in Buddy’s eyes. Buddy’s beak opens, a swirl of Bubbles already forming—

“Enough!” Lance roars.

The word echoes against the walls of the cave. Both Pokémon come to a stop.

“What the hell, guys? We’re here to train, not tear each other apart. We have to work together to beat Rax!”

Before Lance even finishes speaking, Queen lets out a bitter huff and flies away. Lance fights the frustration that wells up at her unimpressed back, at the realization that he’s been judged and found wanting by his own Pokémon. He turns to Buddy, who’s looking at him with fiery, upset eyes. Lance plays with the sour feeling in his gut, running his fingers through its spiky strands, letting it diffuse its natural course.

“Buddy,” he finally says, almost pleadingly. “I know you’re frustrated. I am, too. But you can’t let it control you, dude. You gotta focus, keep your eyes on the prize, else you won’t be able to pick yourself up after you fall.”

Buddy’s expression darkens, and for a moment, Lance is afraid that he’ll walk away, too. Lance kneels down to Buddy’s level. He fights the self-consciousness that rises at his next words.

“I learned something today from that old lady. You, me, n’ the Queen, we’re a team. But we’re not equals. You have badass magical powers. I have… well, I have a nice ass and great cheekbones, but battle-wise, I have nothing. Do you get that? Compared to you, I have nothing.”

Lance ducks his head and runs a hand through his hair. “But you n’ me are together for a reason. You chose me for a reason. You saw something in me that I can give to you, and when we lost to Rax, I failed you. I failed you as a trainer. And I’m really sorry that I failed you.

“Right now, I’m trying to be a better trainer for you and Queen. But it’s a two-way street, you know? I figure out our weaknesses and how we can improve, but it’s up to you to do the improving. I can’t get better without you. Do you get that, Buddy?”

Lance is kneeling, hand outstretched, a pleading smile pinned to his cheeks. Buddy is staring at him searchingly. They’ve done this before, Lance realizes suddenly. And Lance knows how he earned Buddy’s trust last time.

“Hey Buddy,” Lance says softly. “How ‘bout you and me become an awesome team together?”

Buddy stares at him, turmoil plain across his tense posture. Emotions flit across his body, subtle twitches and fidgets that take Lance’s breath away with their intensity. There’s a frenzied energy inside the Piplup, relentless, calling for action, threatening to burst through his seams. He shudders, and the energy drowns him, jumps from feather to feather to lash impalpably against the air.

Buddy is glowing. Literally.

Lance’s jaw drops.

\--

Pidge struggles when Hunk pulls her into a dark enclave of rock, hand firm over her mouth. She falters when the voices reach her ears.

“…gone…—gure out ho— … —ttention…”

“…shitty job… —mbass trainers stickin’ ‘eir noses…”

“…orders… secure the area… any means necessary else the witch ain’t gon’ be happy.”

They freeze when the voices become clearer and louder. Something scuffs loudly against the ground, and small rocks pitter against Hunk’s pants.

“Arceus, I wish I could kill some nosy kids,” someone says right above them.

“Don’t be an idiot. I ain’t bustin’ your ass outta jail a second time.”

They laugh.

Hunk doesn’t dare breathe until the footsteps fade away.

It takes Pidge mercilessly pinching his shaking hand for Hunk to jolt into action. He stumbles out of the nest of rocks, falls flat on his ass, and tries not to dislodge any more rocks with his violent trembling.

“What! The! Fuck! Was! That!” Hunk whisper-shrieks between his panicked breaths.

“That was exactly what we’re looking for,” Pidge returns intently, already peeking around the narrow tunnel like a bloodhound. “There’s something fishy going on with those people. Securing the area? Any means necessary? There’s something here that they don’t want to get out.”

“Correction,” Hunk offers factually. “That’s what _you’re_ looking for, not me. Me? I’m just looking to be a decent guy, you know, have a decent adventure in Sinnoh and see some pretty sights, you know, far away from potential murderers lurking deep in the mountains in the middle of the night. I think that’s pretty reasonable.”

“You’re the one who asked to come,” Pidge shoots back irritatedly.

Hunk cradles his head. “My mistake.”

When he looks up, Pidge looks uncomfortable. “You’re free to leave any time, you know. I’m sure you remember—,”

“Nope. Nope. Gonna nix that right now. I’m not leaving a little girl alone in a mountain filled with murderers.”

“Oh my Arceus, I’m fourteen!” Pidge groans.

“Way too young,” Hunk says, nodding sagely. “Way too young.”

They continue hiking through the winding tunnels, meaningfully avoiding the path that the mysterious voices took. Mount Coronet is a veritable maze, poorly lit, dangerously craggy, and halfheartedly made navigable through scattered rope ladders and untrustworthy bridges. On one hand, being unable to see more than a few feet away helps Hunk pretend that the crickety bridges aren’t _that_ high up. On the other, Hunk can’t tell if the shadows are hiding Pokémon, murderers, or more craggy rocks.

No murderers or Pokémon show up. This freaks Hunk out.

Pidge is intent on something on the walls, unaware of Hunk tapping her shoulder urgently. “Pidge,” he hisses, wide eyes darting back and forth. “Pidge!”

“What?” Pidge replies absently, tracing her fingers on the wall.

“There’s no Pokémon.”

“Cool.”

“No, you don’t get it. There’s no Pokémon!”

Pidge’s forehead is starting to crease. “I heard you the first time.”

Hunk resists the urge to scream. “Listen to me! There’s no Pokémon in the largest, most biodiverse mountain range in the world, the quote-unquote _birthplace_ of the world. That doesn’t happen!”

Pidge is visibly annoyed as she peels away from the wall. “They’ve probably been scared away by those shady people.”

“But all of them?” Hunk urges. “You don’t empty an entire area of Pokémon without something catastrophic going on. Something’s seriously wrong here, Pidge! And it’s bigger than whatever the hell you’re trying to find!”

“Lack of Pokémon encounters isn’t solid evidence of something freaky going on,” Pidge snaps, then raises her wrist to the wall. “Unlike this.”

The light of Pidge’s Pokétch dyes the planes of the wall in blues, reliefs in a saturated cerulean and recesses in an impenetrable black. Hunk stares uncomprehendingly at the careful facets of rock before it hits him: it’s a giant carving.

 

Pidge reaches out. Her fingertips brush against the crest-like structure at the bottom of the ring. A pit the size of Hunk’s hand rests between two blades protruding from the crest. It looks too much like a gaping maw waiting to swallow something.

“ _From itself, two beings the Original One did make / Time started to spin / Space began to expand_ ,” Pidge recites, her voice oddly soft. “This is a myth we’re all taught as children. Arceus, the creator. Dialga and Palkia, deities of time and space. But this part here—” Pidge’s finger slides to the edge of the blades. “This seems to imply a third universal force. A third deity.”

Hunk coughs. “This is fascinating, but I think we should prioritize the fact that this place is absolutely not safe and we should escape.”

“At first, I thought this might be referring to the lake trinity,” Pidge mutters, ignoring him. “But the placement of the Crown of Arceus at the center, like the source, it doesn’t make sense. And the orientation of the outer ring, a classic depiction of knowledge, emotion, and willpower… No, it _has_ to be Dialga and Palkia. But what’s the third deity?”

“Pidge,” Hunk pleads. “We should go.”

Pidge ignores him, presses her hand into the pit. A blue bolt of electricity suddenly jolts through her arm and into the wall. Hunk shrieks, and Pidge snatches her hand away.

The mountain rumbles.

The wall falls apart.

Hunk yanks Pidge away from the collapsing rubble, shielding her with his body. The hurricane of dust snuffs nearby torches, and they listen to the finishing crackles of broken rock in utter darkness. Pidge fumbles with her Pokétch, and the blackness is broken by an eerie, artificial blue.

“Look,” Pidge says, her voice tremulous. An impenetrable passageway sits where the wall once stood.

Hunk pales, gulps.

They go in.

\--

Lance decimates his first opponent.

Buddy makes quick work of Geodude, and Queen dominates Kabuto. Lance stands facing Rax once more, gripping his Pokéballs tightly.

“You’re back,” Rax says with a subtle tilt of the head. “My subordinate tells me you’ve improved.”

“Of course, sir,” Lance drawls. “We had a training montage, touching emotional revelations and everything. You would’ve loved it.”

Rax raises an eyebrow. "I have no doubt."

No more talk; Lance sends out Buddy. He feels a vicious satisfaction when Rax blinks in surprise.

“Evolved into a Prinplup, huh.”

The crest of blades atop Buddy’s head tilts dangerously forward, his sharpened claws digging firmly into the cave floor. Buddy trills lowly, the noise bladed and gravelly in his taller frame.

Rax recovers quickly. “We’ll see if that’s enough to beat me,” he says, expanding the Pokéball in his hand.

Rax tosses the Pokéball. Carbink materializes across the battlefield in a splash of red.

Buddy attacks.

A shockwave of Bubbles knocks the Carbink back before it can settle into a float. Rax belatedly shouts for a Protect, but Carbink is already stumbling. Buddy takes the opportunity to dart forward.

“Sunny Day, quick!” Rax shouts with the slightest tension.

The familiar light opens up above Carbink, and the sharp blades of Buddy’s crest flash manically in the glaring sunlight. On, off, on, off—his metallic beak glints rhythmically with his approach.

“Break its Protect, Bud!” Lance shouts preemptively.

His prediction pays off; Carbink raises a Protect, but Buddy’s wing is already arching in a threatening Pound.

“Pound?” Rax huffs. “You haven’t learned.”

Lance smirks.

“Now!”

In a brilliant flash of light, a thick silver coats Buddy’s flipper from tip to shoulder. Rays of reflected sunlight dance across the cave as the metallic wing swings true. Sparks fly when Buddy’s blade meets the Carbink’s shield. It bends, refracts, shatters into a snowfall of glinting shards, leaving Carbink exposed.

“One more!” Lance screams. Buddy’s other wing hardens and swings.

“Toxic!” Rax shouts, shaken.

Buddy lurches to avoid the ball of miasma. The trajectory of his wing goes awry, glancing Carbink, but Carbink shrieks an inhuman wail of pain at the slight contact. Buddy falls back with the momentum of his swing, the metal on his feathers flaking away.

“That was Metal Claw, actually,” Lance hums gleefully. “And you know, as a rock-fairy dual type, your Carbink’s twice as weak to steel. I’m not sure it could take another hit from my Buddy over here.”

Rax’s expression is tense, a welcome departure from his usual stoic demeanor.

“I underestimated you,” he says simply. “I will not again.”

\--

The passage leads to a chamber. It’s empty, save for an equally empty pedestal.

Pidge keeps wailing about the empty pedestal: The pedestal is empty! Something’s supposed to be here! A secret chamber with a pedestal in the middle? Something important was here!

“Pidge,” Hunk interrupts. “If something important here was taken, don’t you think this means we should get the hell out?”

“You don’t understand! A pedestal like this is ancient, almost always tied to a deity. Anything that rests on something like this is sacred and incredibly powerful. Taking it from the pedestal is already dangerous. Whatever was on that pedestal can cause unimaginable destruction in the wrong hands!”

“Pidge,” Hunk snaps, patience gone. “We should leave.”

“We can’t leave with the pedestal empty—,”

“We _can_ and _will_ leave because we _should_ have left a long time ago!” he roars.

Pidge’s eyes are wide. Shocked. Hunk is just as shocked, but the paranoia and frustration overpowers it. Pidge’s lower lip trembles as she glances at the pedestal, but she steps away.

“You’re right,” she says reluctantly. “Let’s go—,”

Something echoes distantly in the tunnel they came from. They listen intently to the faint noises that are distinctly not their own.

When he hears voices, Hunk freezes.

_“Who the fuck’s there?!”_

The words echo.

Then the echoes are drowned out by aggressive footsteps.

A cut-off whimper breaks the silence. Hunk whips his head around to see Pidge’s petrified expression. The sheer terror emphasizes bags under her eyes and the baby fat on her cheeks. Hunk suddenly remembers how young she is.

Hunk clutches the Pokéballs at his hip and squares his stance.

“Hide behind the pedestal,” he whispers shakily as the footsteps grow louder. “As soon as I send out my Pokémon, run.”

Pidge stares at him. “No,” she forces out.

“Now’s not the time to be a hero,” Hunk hisses. He can hear harsh breaths echoing against the walls, now. “You’re looking for something, right? Are you just going to give that up?”

Pidge flinches. She looks at him with helpless eyes.

The voices are almost on top of them.

“Go!” he snarls.

Pidge hesitates.

“And what do we have here?” a scratchy voice drawls.

Hunk turns around. Two male forms stand against the darkness of the open passage. They must be wearing all black, because Hunk can only see glinting teeth and flashing scleras. Something is splattered on the fabric of their chests. A purple ‘G’.

Hunk sends out his Pokémon.

\--

Carbink pushes Buddy away with a Smack Down.

The move is weak, more suited to knocking flying Pokémon out of the air than repelling a charging Prinplup, but it startles Buddy and lets Carbink throw a Toxic at him.

“Deflect it with Metal Claw!” Lance shouts quickly.

Buddy raises his readied wing, barely blocking the purple goop. It slides off of Buddy’s reinforced wings harmlessly, splattering and disintegrating on the cave floor.

Lance exhales. _Thank Tapu my hunch was right_ , he thinks, watching the poison-resistant steel flake from Buddy’s feathers. He shakes the relief away. _Focus_.

Rax kept his word. After the first hit, Buddy hasn’t been able to land another, forced away by Smack Downs and Toxics, disabled at a range by Sunny Day. Lance bites his lip, images of failed attempts flashing through his head.

“Try again, Buddy! Use Metal Claw to defend yourself!”

Buddy screeches in affirmation. He lunges forward, slices an incoming Smack Down apart.

Lance knows that this attempt, like every other, will fail. He knows that Carbink will slow Buddy down with a volley of Smack Downs. That Carbink will toss out a Toxic when he gets too close. That between dodging poison and breaking Protects, Buddy will only ever land glancing blows.

He knows that Buddy is tiring.

He knows that Buddy chooses to trust him anyway.

Lance doesn’t need a successful hit. He just needs to see it one more time for the last puzzle piece to fall in place.

Buddy slices through a Protect in frustration. He barely dodges the immediate Toxic, forced back by a follow-up of Smack Downs.

“Twenty minutes left,” the referee drones.

Lance gazes speculatively at the shadow under Carbink’s wobbling form. It’s in a different place than before.

He has an idea.

\--

Muds plows the cave floor with Rototiller. Sprouts bloom in the fertile soil under ‘Twig’s stumpy legs, powering the Razor Leaf spray he launches mercilessly at the enemy Purrlion and Stunky.

“Pidge, run!” Hunk shouts over the chaos of battle.

“No!” Pidge screams back. Before Hunk can protest— “Turtwig’s left!”

Stunky is leaping at ‘Twig, vomiting an Acid Spray. Muds dives between them. He’s splattered by the goop, but Double Kick smashes Stunky against the rocks. Stunky rolls onto its feet, chittering menacingly. Purrlion prowls.

“Careful, kid,” one of the men guffaws. “One hit, and yer Pokémon’s dead.”

The Stunky seems to cackle with him. Purrlion bares its teeth.

“Hunk, Hunk,” Pidge is babbling from behind him. “You can’t win. Their Pokémon are stronger. Turtwig’s weak to poison. Hunk, you can’t win.”

Hunk looks on grimly. “This is why I told you to run.”

Stunky and Purrlion leap for ‘Twig at the same time. Muds roars and shakes the ground with a Bulldoze.

“There has to be a way,” Pidge mutters feverishly. “Think. _Think!_ ”

Purrlion latches onto Muds’ back and _bites_. Hunk’s heart breaks at his scream of pain.

The mountain trembles.

\--

“I admit, your tenacity surprises me,” Rax says as Buddy dodges another volley of Smack Downs. “I’m tempted to think that you never learn, but you’ve already proven me wrong once.”

Lance ignores him, recognizing the distraction for what it is.

“I owe you an apology, Lance. I should not have underestimated you. Whatever you’re trying to pull now, I’m wary of it.”

Buddy has closed the distance again, is hammering Carbink ferociously. Carbink barely keeps up with Protects and Toxics.

Lance watches.

He sees it.

“Buddy, Peck Carbink at the top!”

Buddy does not hesitate, even when the Toxic splatters right across his chest. His beak pierces over the topmost point of Carbink’s Protect, like a pencil in a balloon.

In their position on the battlefield, Buddy’s shadow looms over Carbink. The artificial sun beats uselessly against Buddy’s back.

Rax gasps.

Lance smirks.

“Bubble!”

\--

The earth splits open wrathfully.

Pidge shrieks as the ground tilts. Muds stumbles, but ‘Twig frantically bites onto his tail, rooted in the trembling earth by sprouts.

Screams pierce through the deafening blast of breaking rock. They fade. Stone crashes onto the ground beside Hunk, shattering open. He belatedly realizes that the screams came from the bottomless cracks in the ground.

The world jolts. Someone sobs. One of the shady men is hanging onto a indent on the wall with one hand. He throws a Pokéball. A flurry of wings carries him away right before the wall caves in.

Hunk holds onto Pidge and his Pokémon.

He prays to Tapu Koko.

He prays for his grandmother and for Lance.

He doesn’t realize the world has stopped shaking until Pidge collapses onto his shoulder.

“Arceus,” Pidge chokes. “Arceus.”

\--

There are three things Lance has learned from his battles:

  1. Use the environment to your advantage.
  2. There’s always a chink in the Protect.
  3. Use your strengths to turn your opponent’s strengths against them.



Lance doesn’t think of these lessons as Buddy’s bubbles swell against Carbink’s Protect from the inside, drowning Carbink in its own shield.

Lance doesn’t think at all when the shield pops and Carbink falls over.

He just feels.

“We did it,” Lance says faintly. Then, in a loud cheer:

_“We did it!”_

\--

It takes what feels like an hour for Pidge to stop mumbling “Arceus” and for Hunk to release his painfully tight grip on his Pokémon.

“The sprouts from Rototiller must’ve held our ground together,” Pidge says shakily. “We’re alive because of dumb luck.”

“We’re alive,” Hunk says in disbelief.

“We’re alive,” Pidge agrees.

Muds whinnies in distress. Hunk snaps out of his shock and pulls the Mudbray into his arms.

“We,” Hunk says, stroking Muds’ mane, “are leaving right now.”

This time, Pidge does not complain.

Despite their rare and opportune agreement, neither Hunk nor Pidge move. Hunk strokes Muds’ head on his lap and pats ‘Twig’s shell. Pidge hugs her knees. They don’t speak. They don’t discuss how they’ll leave when they’re sitting on a plateau surrounded by abyss.

Finally, Pidge gets up. The movement is unsteady and almost lurches her over the edge, but she balances herself before Hunk can get a heart attack. She turns to him and offers him a hand.

“C’mon.”

Hunk doesn’t move.

Pidge frowns, her hand faltering uncertainly. Something in his stillness must warn her because she stills as well.

In the newfound silence, the creaking of rock scraping against rock is obvious. The groaning surrounds them from all sides. Debris pitter from the ceiling into the abyss. For a moment, Hunk fears that the cave is going to fall apart again, but the sound is wrong. It’s not the moan of an impending earthquake. It’s like… the cave itself is circling them, snaking around the rocks.

Hunk stares past Pidge’s shoulder.

Something very, very big shifts. And looks back.

“Pidge,” he says slowly.

\--

“You haven’t won yet,” Rax says calmly, the surprise from Lance’s final move gone. “I have one Pokémon left.”

Lance’s euphoria doesn’t abate. He grins cheekily. “Guess that’s one more Pokémon for us to beat, then.”

Rax doesn’t reply, just sends out his Pokémon.

Lance feels the smirk fall off his face. He looks up. And up. And up.

\--

The giant, glowing eye of an Onix stares at him.

Whatever Pidge sees on Hunk’s face alarms her, and she turns around. The Onix huffs, and its breath rattles down a chain of boulders that circles their plateau and disappears into the abyss.

“Oh shit,” Hunk whimpers.

\--

“Oh shit,” Lance swears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was planning on making a buffer of chapters over break, but this clusterfuck of a chapter ended up taking up my entire time. Unfortunately, this means that updates from now on will be sporadic because hell (AKA the semester) starts tomorrow. Yaaay!!! :DD
> 
> A couple notes:
> 
>   * I've been working on footnotes on previous chapters to explain some of the more obscure details of the Pokémon world as well as my own headcanons. If there's anything you're confused about, feel free to comment! I'll clarify and add footnotes.
>   * You may also notice me going back periodically to add more to chapters or tweaking certain details. If it's something important to the plot, I'll let you know in the chapter preface.
>   * Please, please, _please_ leave feedback if something tickles you! It doesn't matter what it is: you liked some random detail, you hated Hunk's characterization, you wanted a different scene to be illustrated, etc. It's a very important way for me to gauge how my technical and creative decisions are received, as well as a way for me to connect with you guys! (Of course, don't feel obligated to comment if you don't want to). I'll do my best to respond to everyone meaningfully.
> 

> 
> Finally, thanks so much to my friends for reading over this chapter and giving me feedback. This fic is like a personal space for me to experiment and grow as an artist and writer without being crippled by judgment. So thank you, good friends. (You know who you are). And most importantly, thank you, reader! I hope I could share even a little of the excitement I feel toward this fic with you.


	5. Give and Take

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CONTINUITY CHANGES
> 
>   1. Charmeleon's level has been bumped up. Her moveset in chapter 1 will change accordingly.
>   2. Halfway through writing this, I realized Starly doesn't actually learn Peck. This means I will uncapitalize all prior instances of "Peck" because I'm lazy.
>   3. Queen now struggles with flying in the cave in the gym battle in chapter 3.
> 


The moment of suspense is cinematic. Onix stares at them. Hunk, Pidge and the Pokémon stare back. Onix’s eye twitches noticeably in the silence, its blue-lit irises dancing erratically like a flickering computer screen.

It looks unfocused and unwell.

Then ‘Twig screeches in terror.

Onix attacks.

\--

Onix’s tail crashes down where Buddy stands.

Lance’s shout is drowned out by the deafening _crack_ of broken ground. Debris springs up in an impenetrable cloud. Projectiles fly. Lance shields himself, but his heart jackhammers. He can’t see or hear anything—no, there’s a peek of blue, Buddy’s okay—

In a shockingly quick motion, Onix lurches and slams its tail again.

The battle is a roar of shattering rock and flying debris. Lance can’t keep up. The only indication that Buddy is still conscious and fighting is the laser focus of the Onix’s head as it tracks an invisible target across the cavern floor. Onix isn’t threatening for its size, Lance realizes. Onix is threatening because it locks Lance away from the battle.

“Remember our training, Bud!” Lance shouts blindly. Clips of Buddy dodging Rollouts flash through his head, of the subsequent talk, of Buddy standing proudly in his evolved form. This is just a test of faith, Lance knows. He has faith. He has faith.

Somewhere in the pandemonium, Buddy screeches in affirmation. That’s all Lance gets before a thunderous roar and a spray of rocks drowns everything out.

The Sunny Day is fading, and so is its spotlight on the battlefield. Buddy becomes visible at last, launched in the air to eclipse the sun’s last, shriveled moments. Buddy’s silhouette twists against the dying orange backdrop like an avenging angel. His beak opens. A powerful jet of Bubbles begins to swirl outwards. Onix lunges to meet him.

The deafening impact snuffs out the sun.

\--

Hunk is launched back. The invisible ground rolls around him until Hunk snatches onto something solid with his hand. He holds on dearly until he realizes he’s dangling off the now tilted platform of the plateau.

Hunk heaves himself up. He doesn’t have time to feel relief when Muds helps him up the platform. He catches a glimpse of boulders flashing by in his Pokétch’s weak blue light before Pidge’s distant shout makes his heart stop.

“Pidge!” he shouts. He can’t see her anywhere.

“I’m okay!” she shouts back. Her voice is coming from below the opposite edge of the plateau. “Turtwig’s got me!”

 _Pidge is okay_ , Hunk’s mind registers. An inhuman groan rattles the entire cave, traveling through his bones. _But not for long._

“Hold on!” he shouts over another deafening crash. “I’m coming!”

Muds haws in indignation when Hunk recalls him, but Hunk doesn’t spare him a single thought. He wrenches himself up the diagonal of the rock, but he’s almost swept away by a slipstream of incredibly fast movement right behind him. He feels Onix’s low growl as it barrels by, an ear-grating sound of grinding gravel that feels like nails scratching down his bones.

Onix bucks into the side of the plateau. The rock under his hands creaks and tilts. Hunk doesn’t think, just launches himself off the rock and blindly grasps onto a stable platform. His heart stops when he realizes Pidge and ‘Twig are screaming, and the rock on her side is crumbling away.

“Pidge!” he roars as their screams fade into the abyss.

Their screams abruptly cut off. It’s the most awful sound Hunk has ever heard.

Suddenly, a glow of blue rises past Hunk. Pidge is straddling a chain of rocks, face pale, a trembling ‘Twig in her arms, Pokétch glowing on her wrist. Alive.

“The Dusk Ball in my bag!” is all she has time to scream before she’s wrenched away.

Hunk looks around. The light from his Pokétch catches faintly on a backpack strap hooked precariously on a ledge.

Hunk moves.

\--

It takes a few moments for Lance’s eyes to adjust to the dim lighting.

The scene is grim. Buddy lies limp in a crater, unresponsive in a way Lance hasn’t seen since his first battle with Keith. Lance recalls Buddy. His hand goes to the other Pokéball on his waist, but he pauses. He looks. He looks at how gracefully bulky chain of rocks shifts and coils. Looks at the splotches of darker rock concentrated at a segment of Onix’s body. Looks at how the angle of its curve stiffens awkwardly around those soggy patches.

“The battle isn’t over yet, Lance,” Rax calls out from across the field. “This is a 2v2, if you remember.”

That would’ve been a taunt if Rax were more sociable and less an unintentional asshole. Still, it pisses Lance off. Lance’s grip tightens around Queen’s ball, but he hesitates when a vivid image of her glare pops up.

He has faith, Lance repeats to himself like a mantra. He has faith.

Still, he’s unable to quell his doubts completely before he sends her out.

In what’s probably a poignant reversal to Buddy’s attack on Carbink, Onix attacks before Queen fully settles in the air. Queen goes limp and lets gravity take her out of Onix’s path. Her wings stretch and she careens out of Onix’s range with ease.

Lance suddenly realizes that despite the type disadvantage, Queen can do one thing Buddy could not: keep up with Onix.

Lance watches in amazement as the Queen maneuvers elegantly around Onix’s attacks. It’s a stark contrast to her first battle in a cave. He sees familiar movements: her quick banks while pursuing frantically zigzagging Zubats in the sharp ‘L’ she makes to avoid an incoming Smack Down; her missile-like dive between stalactites in how she rockets through Onix’s attempts to Bind her. He sees new ones, too: a twist following the length of Onix’s body, taking advantage of its slipstream; a Double Team that sneaks her behind Onix’s head.

Watching a tiny Starly weave effortlessly around an Onix many times her size, Lance wonders why he ever had doubts.

“You can do it, Queen!” Lance cheers.

Queen suddenly halts midair and whips around to face him. She hisses the darkest, most hateful screech he’s ever seen from her. Lance recoils. In her distraction, Onix clips the Queen and sends her careening to the side.

“Focus!” Lance shouts automatically, but the Queen has already righted herself.

She flies into a Wing Attack, ignoring Lance’s commands.

\--

With a goal in mind, Hunk is suddenly courageous.

Well, it’s not courage. It’s more like an all-consuming need to keep everyone alive that drowns out the flight and enhances the fight. Onix thrashes. Hunk leaps from unstable platform to unstable platform absently. Past the primal scream to survive, Hunk distantly realizes that Onix is not aiming at him. Onix is literally just lashing out.

The backpack hanging from the ledge is close, but not close enough. A jump would mean certain death. With his numb not-courage, Hunk realizes that if Onix slams into his platform and knocks it toward the ledge, he could make the jump.

He shouts at Pidge to do this.

Dangling Arceus knows how high from the ground on a rampaging Onix, Pidge can’t believe her ears. “Are you fucking serious?” she shouts, but it’s drowned out by the crash of rock on rock and Turtwig keening fearfully in her arms.

She doesn’t have much choice whether it’s serious or not. Hunk is dodging for his life down there. She needs a plan. Think, Pidge. _Fucking think!_

Turtwig is starting to wail in earnest. She pulls the inconsolate Pokémon up to her face.

“Turtwig!” she screams. They almost fall off when Onix abruptly dives against a wall. “Turtwig, listen to me!”

Turtwig screeches, unhearing.

“Turtwig! I need you to do something! For your trainer! For Hunk!”

That seems to get to him. Turtwig’s cries fade into cut-off whimpers.

“When I say ‘now’, I need you to Razor Leaf Onix on the side, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Turtwig screeches. He begins struggling adamantly out of Pidge’s grip.

“Turtwig! Listen to me!” Pidge fumbles with him while clutching desperately onto Onix’s back. “I know you’re scared. But this is the only thing we can do! This is the only thing we can do to stop Onix and make sure everyone’s safe! Your trainer needs you to do this, Turtwig!”

Pidge doesn’t know if she’s trying to convince Turtwig or herself, but Turtwig’s screams are beginning to deteriorate into high yips.

“I need you to be brave for your trainer, Turtwig! Can you do that for me?”

Turtwig trembles uncontrollably. He doesn’t seem to be aware of his panicky noises.

There’s no time. Hunk’s platform is chipping dangerously. Onix lurches into position, and Pidge shouts, “Now!”

The sight of leaves spraying point-blank into Onix’s side is the most wonderful thing Pidge has ever seen. Onix roars and slams into the base of Hunk’s platform.

Pidge can only watch as the platform tilts and Hunk leaps.

He flies.

He slams into the wall. Slips. Then holds on.

His hand is right next to Pidge’s bag.

He pulls out green-and-black, turtle-shell patterned ball and throws it.

The ball gleams like a beacon as it flies toward Pidge.

\--

Queen chips at Onix slowly but surely.

As the battle goes on, the Queen improvises more and more. She begins combining Quick Attacks and Double Teams to travel long distances without Onix noticing. She begins using the momentum of Quick Attack to power up her Wing Attacks. More and more, Lance doesn’t recognize Queen’s attacks from training.

“Aim for the wet patches!” Lance shouts uselessly. Queen is already targeting them.

Onix is growing increasingly frustrated. Smack Downs miss. Queen just slips through Bind. Bulldoze doesn’t affect the Queen. Where Lance is shouting fewer and fewer commands, Rax is shouting more, increasingly terse reminders for Onix to stay focused.

It doesn’t work. Onix abruptly pulls back and roars. It echoes in the cavern and reverberates through Lance’s bones. Rax’s “Don’t—!” is cut off by a sheen of red sweeping through Onix’s body. Onix goes into a Rage.

Queen is buffeted back by the intensity of Onix’s thrashing, but she recovers quickly. She screeches a battle cry and begins to dive.

“Don’t!” Lance shouts desperately.

For a moment, Queen hangs back. She looks over her shoulder contemptuously, at Lance.

She flies in.

\--

Pidge reaches out, but Onix lurches, and the Dusk Ball slips out of her hand.

Turtwig screams as he flies off of Onix’s back. Pidge’s arm is still outstretched toward the Dusk Ball. She doesn’t have time to catch Turtwig. They both plummet out of the blue glow of Pidge’s Pokétch, into the abyss.

Failure. Utter failure. This is worse than the fractured terror of fighting an enraged Onix. This is worse than a primal fear of death. In one fell swoop, she’s killed all of them. Onix is thrashing uncontrollably. Hunk is slipping from the wall. At least they’ll all die before Turtwig’s death means anything to Hunk, Pidge thinks in the black humor of despair.

Pidge’s Pokétch slips from her wrist like a taunt. It falls into the abyss like everything else.

She watches detachedly as the blue glow fades.

As the blue glow fades.

As the blue glow fades.

It doesn’t fade.

Pidge stares. Her Pokétch is hovering.

Two more orbs of blue emerge from the darkness. In one, the unconscious form of Turtwig swims in syrupy blue light. In the other, the Dusk Ball.

Pidge stares as the second orb brings the Dusk Ball to her hands.

Pidge doesn’t question it. She presses the Dusk Ball against Onix’s body.

\--

Lance only sees a fraction of the aerial show. Whether Queen is unhurt, Lance can’t tell. He’s completely separated from the battle by a haze of trashing bodies, kicked up debris, and flickering Double Teams.

Onix’s head rockets out of the pandemonium; a miss. Queen rises behind, then slices devastatingly all the way up the length of Onix’s body through a blindingly quick chain of Quick Attacks and Wing Attacks.

Lance watches as Queen hovers over the soggy joint, Onix struggling to turn around to meet her. She cuts mercilessly into it.

Onix roars in pain before Lance is blinded by light.

\--

Red becomes Pidge’s world. It consumes everything, including the boulder she has been clinging to up until now.

Pidge falls, but it feels like swimming in red.

For a moment, blue breaks through red. Pidge’s Pokétch hovers in front of her face. An impish face flickers in a hologram. It winks at her.

Pidge whites out.

\--

The light clears. A Staravia perches proudly atop the unconscious Onix’s crest.

Her Majesty the Queen XVIII meets Lance’s gaze coolly until he can’t bear it anymore. He recalls her.

No one says anything, until one of the gym trainers who’ve gathered as an audience claps hesitantly.

The gym bursts into applause.

\--

When Hunk is aware of solid ground and musty cave air again, he groans.

Hunk heaves himself up tiredly. Whatever burst of courage that made him superhuman for those few moments, it’s left him completely drained. When he looks up, Pidge is sitting on the ground, pale as a ghost. ‘Twig is at her side, unconscious. Hunk scrambles to him. His pulse beats strongly under Hunk’s thumb, so Hunk sighs shakily and recalls him.

“So you caught it,” Hunk says, glancing at the Pokéball in Pidge’s hand.

This seems to snap Pidge out of her stupor. Pidge nods sharply, as if trying to toss out unwanted thoughts from her head. She reaches to fiddle with her Pokétch—a nervous habit—before she stops abruptly and places her hands by her sides.

“Well,” Hunk tries to say lightly. “At least you got something out of this besides multiple near death experiences.”

Pidge lifts a corner of her lips, but it fails to convey any levity.

Onix is gone, but they still need to figure out how to leave. ‘Twig is unconscious. Muds can’t carry them up vertical walls. There’s no signal this deep in the mountains. Hunk is resigned to hunkering down for the night and praying that Lance will notice his absence, when Pidge suddenly speaks up.

“Why don’t we let Onix tunnel us out?” she says.

Hunk stares at her. Then stares a little more. “Are you insane?”

Pidge’s voice is shaky at first, but she steadily gains momentum. “I know it’s crazy, but Onix are made for the mountains. They have incredibly strong magnetoreception. They literally have sensory magnets in their heads, which means they never get lost while they’re underground. Plus this Onix lives here, Hunk. Onix is our best bet to get out of here.”

“Um, okay, but did you forget that just a couple moments ago, this Onix tried to _kill_ us?” Hunk exclaims highly.

“I don’t think it was trying to kill us,” Pidge snaps. “It just looked like it was panicking or something. If you have any better ideas, you’re more than welcome to share them with the class.”

They glare at each other before Hunk finally backs down. “The minute it starts going psycho,” Hunk warns, “you recall it.”

Pidge nods tiredly. She sends it out.

On even ground, Onix looms above them. The Onix lowers its giant eye to scrutinize them, and it’s déjà vu all over again.

“Onix,” Pidge calls out shakily. “My name is Pidge. This is my friend Hunk. Right now, you’re in a Dusk Ball belonging to me. We’re lost in the mountain. Can you lead us out?”

Hunk wants to scream at Pidge to maybe talk to a giant, murdery rock snake with a little more respect, but he holds his tongue.

They wait with bated breath. Then in an uncannily human movement, Onix nods.

Onix tunnels them out of Mount Coronet.

When they reach open air, Pidge gives Onix a respectful nod and recalls it. Hunk walks tiredly into the open, swearing to never again take for granted the sight of dawn. A beep alerts him that his Pokétch has just picked up signal, and he hastily pulls open a map on the screen. They’re on the east side of the mountain. Hunk is relieved.

He doesn’t get to do much map searching before an incoming call blocks his screen. Coran’s name and three exclamation marks flash urgently.

“Hunk, young man, where have you been?” Coran immediately exclaims when Hunk accepts the call. “I’ve been trying to contact you all night!”

Pidge shifts in Hunk’s peripheral, but he ignores her.

“I was in Mount Coronet,” he says honestly, and Coran makes a dying noise.

“Mount Coronet! For an entire night! Of all the places—never mind, just listen to me, young man. I have urgent news for you. There’s been a horrible crime committed at my brother’s laboratory. It’s being kept under wraps, but you need to kno—”

In a flash, Pidge is at Hunk’s shoulder, wrenching his wrist to her face. “Coran, what the fuck happened to Alfor’s lab?!”

Coran looks at Pidge, then pales. “Katie! What are you doing outside Eterna City?”

“What. _Happened_.”

Coran hardens. “What _happened_ is not for you to know, Katie, if you insist on being reckless and running away from home!”

“It’s absolutely my right to know!” Pidge (Katie?) explodes. “This involves my family!”

“Katie, I know this is hard for you,” Coran says in a strained voice. “But you can’t just run away like this. There are… things going on that you shouldn’t be involved in. You’ll do your family more harm than good by pursuing them. Please, Katie. Go back to Eterna City.”

Pidge tears away from Hunk’s Pokétch and stomps down the path. Hunk watches as the last of Pidge’s auburn hair disappears into Mount Coronet. He doesn’t follow.

“Oh, dear. Oh, dear,” Coran is mumbling on the Pokétch screen.

“Professor, what’s going on?” Hunk asks.

Coran is silent for a moment. He looks older than he ever has before.

“My brother Alfor’s laboratory was burned down a few days ago,” Coran finally says. “No survivors were found. No one knew until yesterday. Now, the League is attempting to conduct an investigation before the news goes out to the public.”

Even exhausted, Hunk’s stomach drops at the barely contained grief in Coran’s voice. “Coran, I’m so sorry.”

Coran breathes. “Don’t be, Hunk. I wanted to warn you because you were headed in the direction of the lab. Please be careful of any suspicious figures, Hunk. I would hate for another tragedy to happen.”

Hunk’s stomach twists. Two men in black and purple uniforms flash through his head.

“And Hunk, I’d like to thank you for being with Katie,” Coran says. “She’s the daughter of a close associate of mine. I didn’t know she ran away. It’s a comfort to know that you were watching over her for some time, at least. Please, if you see her again, keep an eye on her.”

Hunk can only nod noncommitally. He’s learned his lesson about helping sketchy girls.

The call with Coran quickly fizzles out after that. Hunk hangs up, then begins his trek back to Eterna City. He’s eager to sleep on a new piece of knowledge that he’s ninety percent sure of, now:

Pidge is Katie Holt—daughter of famed archeologist Samuel Holt, younger sister of Elite Four member Matthew Holt.

\--

“Congratulations, Lance. You’ve defeated me.”

Lance immediately zones out for Rax’s subsequent spiel about believing in his Pokémon’s potential and growing as a trainer. Lance does not think for a second that the speech is unscripted; Rax’s dry delivery only confirms this.

“It is my honor as the Balmera City gym leader,” Rax says with audible irritation—whoops, guess Lance wasn’t subtle about ignoring him—”to present to you, Trainer Lance, the Crystal Badge.”

There’s awkward fanfare when one of the gym trainers brings out a small case with a glittering badge inside. Lance picks it up delicately and examines it. Delicately carved metal encircling a—you guessed it—Balmera crystal.

“I gotta admit, this is more underwhelming than I expected,” Lance says, mostly to himself.

Rax almost sighs in exasperation. “Yes, well. It’s not about the badge, or even the victory. It’s the experience of growth and self-discovery through battle, which I’m sure you’re more than familiar with.”

Ouch.

“In any case, you’ve proven your prowess in battle. That is why I’d like to give you this, too.” Another gym trainer steps forward with a strange disk. “This is a TM for Smack Down, a rock-type move that grounds flying-types and makes them susceptible to ground-type attacks. Teach this to your Pokémon who are able.”

Lance takes the disk reservedly. Rax frowns imperceptibly.

“I admit, I’m not sure why you’re not more enthused about your victory. You seem like the type to enjoy this.”

Lance isn’t sure either. But images of Onix battering Buddy around like a wet paper towel, then Queen’s sneer before diving in with the finishing blow—

Lance thought victory would make him feel less inadequate.

“Well, you know.” Lance deliberately shrugs and pastes a carefree grin on his face. “You said it yourself. It’s not about the victory, as sweet as it is. I mean, I bet you handed out tons of badges just this week.”

Interestingly, Rax scowls. “No. Just two.”

Lance raises a brow. “Two being…?”

Rax crosses his arms. “You and another trainer who won a badge shortly after your first visit. He was quite talented. He defeated me with a fire-type, of all things.”

“Did he have bad haircut and a worse attitude?”

Rax frowns. “Do you know him?”

“No,” Lance returns shortly, then mutters under his breath, “Of freakin’ _course_.”

Whatever. Keith can ruin all his credibility by having a mullet, but he isn’t going to ruin Lance’s victory.

Well, ruin it anymore.

Lance doesn’t lie; it’s a relief to exit the Balmera gym without looking back. With the ugly feelings swirling around Lance’s gut after what should’ve been a jubilant victory, Lance doesn’t want to deal with any more of Rax’s assholery.

Years of habit makes Lance automatically pull out his Pokégear and dial Hunk’s number, but he freezes before pressing the call button. He remembers listening to the horrible, outdated phone jingle ring over and over. He remembers the automated voicemail message.

Before he can psych himself out anymore, he presses call. When Hunk’s groggy voice echoes across the awful speakers, Lance feels stupid and glad.

“Lance, whas’it,” Hunk grumbles incoherently.

“Hunk, my bro-mate, you’re talking to the latest and greatest recipient of the Crystal Badge.”

At that, Hunk sounds marginally more alive. “Congrats, Lance. Knew you could do it.”

Lance laughs, and he’s a little embarrassed to hear it come out watery. “Well, dude, that’s one of us.”

“Lance?” Hunk is definitely more awake now.

“Sorry, nothing. Anyways, why’d you just wake up? How was the mou—,”

Someone rams into his shoulder. Lance stumbles as a dark-clothed man whips around.

“Watch it, kid,” the man spats.

Lance raises his hands in surrender. He catches a blur of ugly snarl and purple on black before the man strides away.

“Asshole,” he mutters.

“Lance, what was that?” Hunk’s concern bleeds through even the horrible speakers.

“Whoops, not you, dude. Just got shoulder-checked by some asshole wearing black and purple. Like, are we bringing back the 00’s here? I thought only my brother dressed like that these days.”

Hunk is silent. Suddenly, Lance feels unsure.

“Hunk? You there?”

A beat. “Yeah.” Hunk pauses stiltedly. “Yeah. Sorry, just tired. Tell me about your gym battle, Lance.”

Lance babbles right on cue, but he’s awfully aware that something is wrong.

\--

Hearthome City begins to glow at dusk. Street by street, homey lanterns light up in deep oranges against the purpling sky. Keith scuffs his boots against the pavement, glancing surreptitiously at the shadows that cut across Shiro's face, tracking the progression of their edges and their hues. In the languid, mysterious lighting of a city at night, Shiro looks mature. Unknowable.

Shiro notices his scrutiny, but he continues walking in comfortable silence. Keith appreciates that about Shiro; he doesn't make a production out of Keith's small actions. Keith doesn't need scramble for a justification when he gets called out. He doesn't need to get defensive when people take it the wrong way. He doesn't need to wonder why people don't like him, doesn't have to worry about losing his temper and getting into a fucking fight with people for reasons he can't understand.

Keith realizes he’s grinding his teeth. He relaxes his jaw and forces himself to feel the looseness in his temples until they start tingling weirdly.

Arceus, he missed Shiro _so much_.

“What’s on your mind, Keith?” Shiro’s baritone cuts through the hum of glowing streetlights. “I know that face. That's your overthinking face.”

“I don't have an overthinking face,” Keith protests automatically.

“And I'm not the champion of Sinnoh.”

Shiro tries to look away suavely, but Keith just rolls his eyes. “You know that line stops working when you keep throwing it at my face.”

Shiro sighs dramatically. “You get less and less impressed each day. Am I losing my touch?”

“If you wanted someone to kiss your ass all the time, you should've gone with Lance.”

Keith winces when his words come out sharp instead of joking. Ah, shit. Shiro is looking at him inquisitively, now.

“So you remember his name, now?” The corner of Shiro’s mouth ticks up. Keith stonily ignores him and walks faster.

The past day and a half in Shiro’s company has been both wonderful and incredibly annoying. As much as Keith has missed Shiro, he could do without the I’m-older-and-wiser-than-you refusal to explain what he’s doing in Hearthome, where they’re going, why he didn’t met up with Keith earlier—everything. Keith feels like a ten-year-old constantly asking “are we there, yet?” and receiving nothing but an inscrutable “patience yields focus” in response.

Okay, Shiro doesn’t say that. He says, “Not yet,” except when they’re finally there. Then Shiro says, “We’re here.”

“Here” is a modest apartment building that looks straight out of those cheesy tourist brochures that Keith used as coasters back in Kanto. Something twists uncomfortably when he follows Shiro through the arched door, up the winding steps with stone railings, past the foreign decor Keith has only ever seen under rings of tea stains. Shiro speaks warmly to a young woman with smoky skin and gleaming Balmeran hoops. She leads them into a cozy room.

The woman brings treats: honey and chesto berry jam on toasted bread. It's delicious, but it only makes Keith feel worse.

“Not to your tastes?” the woman asks softly. Keith flushes, caught.

“No, no, they're great. I, uh,” Keith gulps. “I'm just not used to this.”

The woman nods. “I understand. Traveling can be jarring when all you've known is one life.”

Keith eyes her lightly swaying hoops in confusion. “Is Balmera that different from Hearthome?”

Shiro kicks him in the shin, but the woman just laughs. “I suppose traveling to a different city is nothing compared to traveling to a different region. Maybe one day I’ll have the chance to journey abroad like you, Keith.” Her eyes lower slightly. “That would be wonderful.”

At a loss, Keith just nods. Shiro elegantly pulls the woman into a friendly conversation, leaving Keith to munch on his bread awkwardly.

Eventually, the woman leaves them alone with blankets and toiletries. Shiro takes first shower, while Keith scribbles in his journal and methodologically checks his supplies. Soon, they're shuffling into their beds, filling the room with rustles and creaks until the click of a light switch silences the bedtime symphony.

Moments pass. Keith listens to Shiro's breathing.

“Imagine my surprise,” Shiro says, “when I heard about a young man with a Charmeleon causing havoc in eastern Sinnoh.”

Keith says nothing.

“There's a lot of rumors about this trainer,” Shiro continues conversationally. “Apparently, he's sponsored by Professor Coran for some sort of illegal government research. Apparently, he steamrolled Balmera’s gym leader despite a quadruple weakness. One person even says he's the second coming of Red himself. What do you think about that, Keith?”

“I think you need to stop gossiping like an old man,” Keith snipes. Shiro snorts. Keith prays that he'll drop the conversation.

“Why did you come to Sinnoh, Keith?” Shiro asks gently. “Last time I saw you, you were on your fourth badge in Kanto. What happened to winning the Kanto league?”

Keith curls up into his sheets. _What’s the point of being champion when you’re not there anymore?_ he doesn't say.

The silence between them crackles like a livewire. Finally, Shiro sighs.

“How’s Sinnoh?” Shiro offers. Keith grabs onto the out like a lifeline.

“It’s okay, I guess. It’s really cold. Isn’t it summer right now? And what’s with everyone making you jump through hoops and doing a bunch of puzzles before they let you battle the gym leader? I thought that was just a Kanto thing. And people get so mad when you going off the route. That makes no sense! It's so much faster to just go in the direction you need to! Like, just use your common sense and a compass, then you're there! Done!”

“There’s the Keith I know.” Shiro sighs. “Breaking laws without compunction, then admitting it to the champion himself. As your friend, I’ll pretend I didn’t hear that.”

Keith winces. “Sorry.”

Shiro huffs. “Don’t apologize for being you, Keith. Nothing stops you. It looks like those ‘hoops’ didn’t stop you from winning your badges, either. It’s no small feat to beat Rax with a type disadvantage.”

Keith flushes, pleased. “Charmeleon and I have handled worse.”

“Speaking of, how is she?”

“She’s great. She learned Flame Burst the other day.”

“A strong move. And your Sinnoh starter? Which one did you get?”

Keith’s tongue trips. “Chimchar,” he forces out after a pause.

Somewhere in the darkness, Shiro is raising a brow. “Chimchar?”

Keith grunts. Shiro waits patiently.

“I don’t think he’s meant to battle,” Keith finally says.

“Why not?”  
  
“I just—,” Keith huffs roughly. “He’s just doesn’t. Do what he’s supposed to.”

Keith trails off, wincing at his words, but Shiro doesn’t interject. Feeling more confident, Keith continues.

“I don’t know what I’m doing wrong. I train him every night. We do drills. We battle at least twice a day. I have a page in my journal with all his strengths and weaknesses. We work on them everyday. I’m doing everything I did with Charmand—Charmeleon, but he’s just not giving the results. And Charmeleon can handle everything on her own anyways. He’s just… useless, right now.”

The words sound ugly against Keith’s ears, but it’s like a weight lifted off his shoulders. Shiro doesn’t say anything. Shiro doesn’t judge.

Finally, the silence is broken with a click of a switch. Keith cringes away from the orange glow of the lamp. Rustling behind him tells Keith that Shiro perched himself on the edge of his bed, and Keith mirrors him on his own.

Shiro reaches for the belt on the nightstand. Six Pokéballs strapped to leather gleam orange in the lamplight. One by one, he points at the Pokéballs on the belt.

“This is Mightyena. I trained her from a Poochyena fresh out of an egg into the Champion of Sinnoh’s right hand. She’s a careful and attentive. Other people take that as slow, but she’s one of the sharpest Pokémon I’ve ever raised.

“Ninetails. He’s a trade from a close friend who caught him on a trip to Alola. He’s lazy and prideful. It took weeks for him to start listening to my commands, and months for him to not do the opposite out of spite.

“Smeargle. He’s a quirky one. Smeargles are notoriously hard to train because they’re free spirits. Training him is a constant compromise. I have to work with his ideas more than any other Pokémon I’ve trained.

“Lucario. Meeting him was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. I didn’t catch him; he chose me. And that took test after test on my courage, my perseverance—on everything that made me a trainer.

“Manetric. He’s on his own wavelength all the time. He’s never truly disobedient, just forgetful or distracted. I try to train him to make decisions by himself, since Arceus knows he won’t hear my commands in the heat of battle.”

Shiro pauses before pointing at the last. “Arcanine,” Shiro says softly. “My first Pokémon. She’s been by my side through the Kanto, Johto, and Sinnoh leagues.”

Keith feels dizzy. “You still have Arcanine?”

Shiro nods. His eyes glitter orange in the lamplight.

“Keith, I don't think anyone can argue that you're not a talented trainer. You have a battle sense that amazes me every time I see it. But that's not enough. Pokémon battling is just as much about understanding your Pokémon as it is training them for battle.

“Charmeleon’s strong, but she’s not a team by herself, Keith. You’re putting both you and her in a huge disadvantage by working alone. You said Charmeleon can handle everything by herself, but that's not true. Trust me,”—Shiro absently strokes Arcanine’s Pokéball—”I would know.”

“I know!” Keith explodes. “I know this! You’ve told me this a million times! Teamwork, patience, and everything else. But it’s not working! Look, I get what you’re trying to say, but Chimchar’s not like your Pokémon. He’s not a rare and powerful pseudo-legendary or a battle-bred Pokémon. He’s just a lab Pokémon that Coran forced me to take. And you’ve gotten by for years with just Arcanine. Why can’t I do the same with Charmeleon?”

Shiro meets Keith’s glare evenly. He reaches for the belt and unstraps a Pokéball, rolling it between his fingers.

“Alright, you’re not happy with Chimchar,” Shiro says simply. “It happens. A trainer and a Pokémon just don’t fit, sometimes. Usually, what happens in that situation is a trade.”

Shiro outstretches his hand. The Pokéball lolls languidly on his palm.

Keith blanches. “You're kidding.”

Shiro gaze is steady. “I'd like to trade for your Chimchar, Keith.”

“This isn’t funny Shiro.”

“Good thing I’m not making a joke.”

“Shiro—,” Keith breathes harshly. “I can’t do that. I can’t take your Pokémon.”

“You’re not taking them. We’re making a trade.”

“Shiro, please. I’m not meant to have your Pokémon.”

Shiro finally softens. “Just try, Keith. See where this goes.”

It’s that expression. The one with the gentle slope of Shiro’s brows, the open eyes, the half-smile rounding out his cheeks. Keith always imagined that expression on his parents’ faces. They’d look at him like Shiro. Like they believed in him.

Keith grabs Chimchar’s Pokéball. He watches as he gives it to Shiro. He watches his fingers close around the other Pokéball. It gleams an identical shade of plastic red and mass-produced white. It could be holding a Rattata, if Keith didn’t know better.

“Take care of him for me,” Keith blurts out. Shiro’s brows shoot up in surprise before he catches himself.

“I will,” Shiro says solemnly.

Keith doesn’t sleep for the rest of the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Praying this gets through whatever's going on with Ao3 right now. 
> 
> Sorry for 2 months of no activity! This semester is kicking my ass. The next update will be around the end of May because there's no way for me to get a chapter out during the semester. In the meantime, I will be fixing the continuity issues (read pre-chapter note) and making art for this chapter. Sorry for that, by the way! Wanted to get this chapter out ASAP, even without art.
> 
> I hope you accept this long and plot-heavy chapter as my sincere apology, LOL.

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to get this out before my break ended, so this is still a work in progress. I will be going back to add footnotes, change the title, possibly insert some illustrations throughout the duration of this fic. All in due time.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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